


I'll Give You Wings

by BleedingInk



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Alternate Universe - Tattoos, Drama, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Flashdance-like Plot, Megstiel - Freeform, Oral Sex, Recreational Drug Use, Stripper Castiel, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Tattoo Artist Meg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-15
Updated: 2016-09-20
Packaged: 2018-05-26 23:45:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 25
Words: 104,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6260689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BleedingInk/pseuds/BleedingInk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Castiel envisioned his dancing carreer, he didn't exactly picture himself working at Balthazar's exotic club, the Heaven and Hell, but everyone has to start somewhere. On his first week, he meets Meg Master, a tattoo artist with a mysterious smirk, and he's immediately attracted to her and her work. As he tries to navigate the club's drama, his familial relationships and his own anxiety about his artistic path, he finds that maybe Meg has the key to help him take off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [msdoomandgloom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/msdoomandgloom/gifts).



> This work was originally inspired by [a prompt sent to my blog](http://inkbleeder.tumblr.com/post/96285734846/prompt-for-msdoomandgloom-strip-club-au-in-which) by [msdoomandgloom](http://msdoomandgloom.tumblr.com/) and I have been promising her for literal years that I would turn it into a full lenght fic. So here it is, finally, and I hope you enjoy it! :)

Five years at dance school, endless hours and dollars spent in training and equipment, sprung muscles and broken bones and weekends spent in complete solitude practicing.

_For this._

It wasn’t that Castiel was ashamed of his job or anything like that. It’s that when he pictured his future dancing career, he saw himself on somewhere he could show off his abilities and have them appreciated. Well, it wasn’t like the clients of the Heaven on Earth didn’t appreciate them. They just appreciated them in a completely different manner.

“You just have to roll with it, Cas,” Dean told him. “Tonight’s going to be a crazy one.”

They were getting ready for the night in their messy, small dressing room; that looked even smaller when the Winchester brothers were both in there. Castiel was pretty tall, but the brothers were huge, especially Sam. They were also extremely good-looking and in peak physical form, to the point that Castiel was reminded of those semi-naked men in the cover of romantic historical novels that were usually shown carrying a fainted woman in their strong arms. Castiel considered himself to be mildly attractive and a damn good dancer, but it was hard not to feel a little self-conscious when his coworkers looked like that.

But despite his shyness, the brothers had been kind to him since day one, giving him tips about what to wear, how to act around the clients and helping him relax.

Dean’s comment that night was the opposite of relaxing, though.

“Why, what’s tonight?” Castiel asked, apprehensive.

It was only his third night dancing at the club. Wednesday night had been confusing and a little scary with a woman that had tried to pinch his butt and had protested all the way to the door when Benny, the security guy, had kindly reminded she couldn’t do that. The other guys had told him not to take it personal, that the night wasn’t complete without someone trying to cop a feel. Thursday had been a confirmation of that, but this time Castiel had been agile enough to move away as soon as the dollars were secured in his slips.

Balthazar, their boss and club host, had been quite understanding that he wanted to take it easy and dance to slower songs those first nights, but he had been adamant that Castiel had to participate in the weekly thematic group’s presentation and also have a solo routine, because…

“Friday night,” Dean explained, like it was obvious. “All the college chicks looking to have a good time, all the desperate housewives who can’t get this at home,” Dean added, pointing at his sculptured abs. “And they all tip insanely well if you shake it the right way.”

“Dean, you’re scaring him,” Sam pointed out. “Pass me the body oil.”

“No, he isn’t,” Castiel said.

He had practiced his routine at his small apartment and arrived at the club early, and then he had spent hours practicing with the other guys that afternoon, trying to make his dance style match the others. Just because he was a stripper, it didn’t mean he wasn’t a professional stripper. He was ready. At least, he hoped he was.

Sam obviously realized Castiel wasn’t in the most balanced condition, because he put down the body oil on the dressing room’s table and patted him in the back.

“You survive your first Friday night, you can totally survive the job.”

Castiel sure hoped so, but the doubt had already been installed in his mind.

“And what do I do if someone asks for a private dance?” he asked, suddenly panicking at the thought. It hadn’t happened before, but if Dean was right, there would be a lot more people that night, and if a client…

“You just put on some music, shake it a little, tell her she’s very pretty and that you wish you could touch her and whatnot,” Dean shrugged, as he buttoned up a white shirt that was clearly too small for him. “It’s easy. Some of them tell you exactly what they want, so you should be alright.”

“Hey, have you seen my tie?” Sam interrupted, even though it was hard to believe something could be lost in the small dimensions of their room.

“Dude, you gotta be more careful with your stuff.”

So the brothers started looking for the tie and completely forgot about their dancing partner, who was sitting there already fully dressed for the routine, and slowly turning into an ugly nervous wreck. To calm himself, he got up and wandered off, past the rooms were private dances were going to be held and up to the scarlet curtain that separated the club’s back from the stage and the bar.

It was early, but the place was almost completely packed. There were four girls in a table next to the stage. They couldn’t be older than twenty one, and they had their heads together while they giggled, like they were doing something naughty and found that amusing. Despite being so close, Castiel couldn’t her them, because there was another group of women nearby, a rowdy bunch who were drinking and shouting loudly. One of them was sporting a bridal veil in her head, so he deduced it was a bachelorette party. They seemed to fit the description of the average member of the public Dean had described.

The scent of tobacco and smoke reached his nose.

“Are you nervous, darling?” a voice with a soft British accent asked him.

Castiel turned around to look at Balthazar. He was an older man with grey hair and soft voice that made his sarcastic comments and dry humor all the more funny. He was smoking and Castiel didn’t think he’d ever seen him without a cigarette in his hand.

But he liked Balthazar. And being his boss, he thought he should be honest with him.

“I am… not entirely sure I can do my best.”

“Well, that’s a pity,” Balthazar said. “And here I was trying to ease you into it by giving you the middle of the week shift. I think you did well enough this past few days.”

“Thank you,” Castiel said. Coming from Balthazar, “well enough” might as well have been an enthusiastic compliment.

“You’ll do fine,” Balthazar assured him, patting him in the back. “And if you don’t, I’ll have to fire you. Good luck.”

Castiel didn’t even bother to try to figure out if his boss was joking or not as he walked away.

“Hey, look who’s here,” Dean said, startling Castiel. For a person so tall, he moved pretty damn silently. “Your regular, Sammy.”

“Oh, no,” Sam sighed.

“Who?” Castiel asked, interested, looking again at the bar.

“The blond chick with the tats and the nose ring.”

With those signs, Castiel localize her immediately: she was sitting in a stool by the bar, with a bottle of beer in her hand. She was wearing a skirt with fishnets and combat boots, and a tank top that showed all of her colorful arms. Unlike the other women at the club, she seemed to have come there alone. She wasn’t chatting or toasting with anybody. She just drank her beer and looked around, clearly waiting for the show to start.

“Her name’s Meg,” Dean informed Castiel. “She always requests a private dance with Sam.”

“She’s nice, but a little bit weird,” Sam chimed in. “She doesn’t even let me dance sometimes. She just looks at me like she’s trying to figure something out and sometimes….”

“Are you ready boys?” Balthazar interrupted. The other dancers had already joined the group, all donning some variation of the same combination of suit, tie and a trench coat. Balthazar examined them closely and nodded approvingly before he started passing around some colorful umbrellas. “Things are going to get freaky out there.”

Castiel took a deep breath.

The first half hour was no different than the previous nights: the music blasting, the clients getting steadily drunk. The first difference Castiel noticed at first was the sheer amount of people. He thought the club was more crowded than usual, but now he realized even the back tables, that didn’t have that much of a good view of the stage, were completely full tonight. The second difference was the screaming and shrieking they received when they got out for the group dance.

That night’s theme was “weather men”, and Castiel overheard a lewd comment about where he could be raining over from the bachelorette party group. He didn’t take heed and continued with the routine. He actually found that liked this part. All the attention wasn’t on him like in his solos: the clients were more prone to look at Dean, who clearly basked in their excitement, or at Sam, who despite his sight, had a gentle, charismatic smile.

Or at any of the other guys except him.

But, as he stripped from his trench coat and swung his hips to the rhythm of _It’s Raining Men_ , he felt the sting of a couple of eyes that followed each and every one of his movements. He might have been imagining it, but when the routine allowed him to raise his eyes, he looked above the heads of the crowd, and he met the stare of the blond woman. She was sipping a red beverage now, and looking at the stage with an amused smirk.

Meg, Dean had called her. Her name was Meg.

Gadreel elbowed Castiel on the ribs, and he realized he had missed a step.

Embarrassed, he rapidly rejoined the group and took his place for the climax of the routine, in which they all opened their umbrellas and covered their crotches with them. It wasn’t the classiest symbolism, but the public went wild.

The lights went off and the dancers rapidly returned to their dressing room to get ready for their individual acts.

“Cas, what the hell happened to you out there?” Gadreel asked. “You zoned out. You’re usually so intense about these things…”

“Leave him, Gad,” Sam defended Cas. “He’s just a bit nervous.”

Castiel didn’t contradict him. As he got ready for his act, he tried to take off Meg’s stare out of his mind. Gadreel was right, he wasn’t easily distracted, and he definitely wasn’t stage shy. So why the hell had she thrown him off like that?

He decided to stop wondering. His act followed Dean and Sam’s cowboy strip (by the hysterical yelling that came from the bar, he figured they would be coming back with a few thousand dollars each in their strings), and he needed to keep his head over his shoulders.

“Give them hell, Cas,” Dean said, patting him on the shoulder. Then he realized what he was wearing, and chuckled: “Or, you know… not.”

Cas grimaced. He was pretty sure he was going to hell for this, but oh well… when the time came for him o justify his acts, he was going to say he had been lead stray by Balthazar.

The first notes of _Take Me to Church_ started sounding, and Castiel took the stage. There was some confused muttering at his attire, but as soon as the collar and the cassock were off, he was met with enthusiastic clapping and cheering. He had chosen a slower song so he could perform some acrobatics with the pole. That was definitely his forte: he wasn’t all built, so he had to stretch his muscles to show more of his body. It also helped that he had to pay attention to what he was doing, because it kept him distracted from all the hungry glances thrown at him.

When he was so high on the pole and hanging upside down, he allowed himself to take another look in the bar’s direction. Meg was still there, singing along and watching at him with interest. She took the cherry from the edge of her glass, and slowly put it inside her mouth, and sucked it.

Castiel’s knees weakened and he almost fell, but he managed to recover his balance just in time. He got down and strutted around the stage, allowing the clients to tip him for his dance; then hurriedly made his way back to the dressing room. His face was red, and not from the effort of dancing. How in the world could Sam dance for that woman in private when Castiel couldn’t even focus with several meters and people between them?

Unluckily for him, he was about to discover it. He hadn’t even finished putting away the money when Benny, the bouncer, popped his head in.

“Cas, you’ve got a private,” he called him. He seemed to be barely holding in the laughter.

“Oh,” Castiel muttered, apprehensive. He hadn’t expected it to happen so soon. “Yes… give me a second.”

He grabbed his phone, put on a white shirt and jeans, but didn’t bother with the shoes. His heart was beating in his throat, and his hands were shaking a bit. It also didn’t help that Benny kept quietly laughing at him, like there was a joke Castiel wasn’t getting.

“What’s so funny?” he asked him, as he followed him to the V.I.P. room.

“Nothing,” Benny said. “I think you just stole Sam’s regular.”

Castiel didn’t have time to process that information when Benny opened the door for him. The room was barely illuminated in reddish tones, to give the place a more intimate look, but he could see perfectly clear who was in there. Meg was sitting in the red armchair in front of which they had to perform. She waved a hand at Castiel, the same playful smirk on her full lips. She was even more attractive that close, with her long legs crossed and he bleached hair looking like a red halo around her face.

“You remember the rules, Masters?” Benny asked.

“As clearly as the Lord’s Prayer,” Meg said, innocently.

Her voice was a hoarse whisper that made Castiel shudder. Was there anything about this woman that didn’t exude sex? No, he shouldn’t be thinking about the clients like that…

Benny pushed Castiel a little, and then closed the door behind him.

Well, fuck.

Castiel cleared his throat and told himself to act like a professional. He connected his phone to the speakers to give himself a second to get together.

“Hello,” he said. “Would you like me to…?”

“Take off your shirt,” she cut him off. The ordered came so confident and direct Castiel felt obliged to obey. “Turn around. Yes, that’s very good…”

“I’m s-sorry,” Castiel stuttered, looking at her over his shoulder. “But what is… good?”

“Your back muscles,” Meg explained like it was obvious. “They’re very nicely built. Natural. You don’t spend hours in the gym like Sam does. I’m guessing you’re a swimmer… or a runner.”

“Uh… both?” Was he supposed to be sharing this kind of personal information with a client? He wasn’t sure. “Don’t you want me to dance…?”

“Nope, that won’t be necessary,” Meg stopped. “Just stand there, please.”

There was some scratching, and when Castiel looked again, Meg had a notebook opened on her lap and was drafting something.

“Why are you doing that?”

“Because I need to finish this project and if I have to ogle at a guy, I’d rather him be pretty,” she answered, without taking her eyes off the page. “What did you say your name was again?”

“Uh… Jimmy.”

“Stage name?” Meg asked, and Castiel had to nod. “You don’t look like a Jimmy. You seem more like a… Clarence to me.”

“Why?” Castiel asked. He had never in his life met anyone named Clarence, and he couldn’t fathom why would he look like one.

“You got that angelic aura about you,” Meg commented. “Okay, I think I got everything,” she closed the notebook with a hollow thump. “Thank you.”

“That’s it?” Castiel asked, frowning. “You just wanted to draw me?”

“Well, I would have filmed you dancing and then drawn you in the comfort of my home, but sadly that’s not allowed,” Meg sighed. “Do you want to take a look? It’s just a rough sketch, but I think is one of my bests.”

“O… kay, sure,” Castiel answered, still confused.

Meg opened the book for him, and Castiel had to raise it a little to look at it in the dim light of the room. In the page, there was man kneeling with his back bare and his hands extended in a praying attitude. Meg had added a few soft lines in his back to trace what obviously would become a pair of wings once she added more details to it.

“It’s… really good,” Castiel said, sincerely.

Meg’s smiled changed. First it had been flirty and sweet, but now it was a smile of genuine happiness, of someone who was proud of her work and glad others could appreciate it. It was immediately contradicted by the way she shrugged and threw it indifferently into her bag.

“It’s gotta be good,” she said, as she swung it over her shoulder. “What would people think if I tattooed ugly things in them?”

“This is for a tattoo?” Castiel asked, suddenly very concerned that his back muscles were going to end on someone’s skin.

“No, this is for college,” Meg clarified. “I study Art.”

“Oh,” Castiel nodded. That actually explained a lot. “Well, you’re very talented.”

“Thank you, Clarence,” she said. She took out her wallet and tried handing him a fifty. “Your tip.”

“Oh, no, please,” Castiel said, suddenly embarrassed because he hadn’t done what he was supposed to. “I really didn’t…”

Before he could protest any further, Meg put the bill in his hand. Then, after a second hesitation, she took out a little business card and also put it on Castiel’s hand.

“Come and see me some time,” she told him. “I’ll show the finished drawing. And who knows, maybe you’ll decide to get something to adorn that pretty back of yours.”

She winked at him and strutted out of the room, leaving him with the impression he should have done or said something else.

 

* * *

 

The rest of the night went on pretty smoothly. Sam and Dean both were requested for several private sessions, but apparently, nobody else wanted to see Castiel, so around two in the morning, he got dressed in his normal clothes and crossed the hall towards Balthazar’s office.

There was a cloud of smoke floating around the desk, and two ashtrays overflown with cigarette butts. Castiel felt like he could get second-hand smoke cancer just but stepping in there, but he had no choice when Balthazar looked up from the creased papers he was reading and gestured towards the chair in front of his desk.

“Hello, darling,” he greeted him like he hadn’t seen him a few hours early. “I’ll be with you in a second.”

He carelessly pushed the papers underneath a pile of others, equally disorganized papers, and grinned at Castiel.

“So how was your first Friday night?” he asked, taking a long drag and expelling the smoke in neat circles.

“It was fine,” Castiel said. “A little intense.”

Balthazar’s wheezing laughter became a coughing fit, but it had passed before Castiel could offer to get him a glass of water.

“Oh, tonight was pretty light,” he told him. “On Saturdays, we have a queue that goes around the corner.”

Castiel didn’t know what to say to that, except that he was glad he didn’t have to work on Saturdays.

“We’ll see,” Balthazar said. “You had one private tonight, yes? If you become popular enough, maybe I can offer you to take another shift. It would come with a pay increase, of course.”

“That’s very generous…” Castiel started saying. He was going to add that he didn’t think that would be necessary, that between this and his day job, he was doing fine, but Balthazar continued like he hadn’t said a word:

“But for that, you would need to improve your act.”

Castiel felt a sudden panic that Balthazar had noticed his misstep in the group performance, but he apparently didn’t mean that at all:

“You are decent looking, and you clearly know what you’re doing out there,” he explained. “But to be honest, you’re pretty bland. That whole waltzing with the pole is very romantic, but the clients don’t come here for romance and it can only carry you for so long. You would need to figure something that makes your act a little spicier, that makes you stand out. You know what I’m saying?”

“I… think I do,” Castiel said.

He didn’t say that he would rather not stand out there, just do his act, get paid and get out. He appreciated the opportunity he was being given, but the only reason he had decided to work at the club was because that way he could use the gym and the dancing room to keep his body in shape.

“Good,” Balthazar smiled and took another drag. “See you on Wednesday.”

Castiel had discovered that if he kept his eyes down and walked fast when leaving, none of the clients recognized them. Besides, they were distracted looking at Inias taking off his firefighter hat and jumping off the stage to shake his hips right in front the bachelorette’s face.

The coldness outside was a sharp contrast with the heat inside the club. Castiel zipped up his jacket and stuck his hands in his pockets. His fingers grazed something sharp and squared.

The card Meg had given him said that her business was called “Masters Ink & Piercings”. It had a skull drawn underneath the name, and the direction indicated that it wasn’t that far from the club. He could probably walk there if he wanted to.

The thing was, even if he did want to, he wasn’t sure it would be very professional to have contact with a client outside of the club. Granted, Meg might not have been a typical client, but still…

He was about to get rid of the card in the first dumpster he passed by, but at the last moment, he put the card back inside his pocket again. The image of the begging man who had his back and Meg’s proud smile accompanied him all the way home.


	2. Chapter 2

The following Saturday started poorly for Castiel and got steadily worse.

His alarm didn’t go off or maybe it did and he had been so deep in slumber he turned it off without realizing. The heating was broken _again_ , even though his landlord had assured him it would be taken care off. The consequence was he had to take a shower with cold water even though the temperature had dropped outside while he slept. He got dressed shivering so much it was a miracle he managed to put his arms inside the sleeves of his shirt, and ran outside to catch the bus.

Only the pavement was wet with sleets falling ceaselessly on his head. He almost slipped and fell on his face, and while he tried to recover his balance, he missed his bus. He had to wait twenty agonizing minutes until the next one arrived, and by then, his cellphone was ringing like crazy.

“Where are you?” Anna asked on the other end.

Castiel looked at his clock with a grimace and realized he was going to arrive at the restaurant about an hour late.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m really, really sorry. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Yeah, you better,” Anna replied. “We’re having a crazy rush. There are like twelve French tourists here and they’re complaining about everything. It’s driving Zachariah nuts.”

Castiel cursed internally. Unlike Balthazar, his other boss was rude and prone to go off at his employees when he was in a bad mood. He understood the man was an internationally famous chef, but that didn’t give him the right to be a douche.

But still, he was the douche who paid Castiel’s bills. So when the bus stopped, he ran, like an idiot who hadn’t learned his lesson the first time. He was out of breath and mentally preparing for the abuse he was about to endure, but at least he was already on the same block at the restaurant. All the running he had to do had been great to shake off the cold. Hi cheeks were burning as he dodged the usual Saturday crowd and he couldn’t wait until he got to work and could take off his coat. He was probably all sweaty underneath, but maybe that would show Zachariah how much he’d tried to get there in time. He could already make out the sign of the restaurant… when he lost his balance again.

For one terrifying second, as the floor rose to meet him, he feared something had gone wrong with his ankle. If he was injured, he didn’t have the money to go to the doctor, but if he actually hurt himself and left it untreated, he might not have been able to dance. It wasn’t until he was already in the pavement, with a sharp pain surging through his left shoulder and his clothes getting wet, that he realized that he had slipped on a puddle of water. Because he hadn’t been paying attention. Because he was an idiot.

“Are you okay?” a guy passing by asked. “Do you need help?”

“I’m fine,” Castiel said. Groaning, he stood up and leaned on the wall to do some damage assessment.

The entire left side of his body ached badly, but he could deal. His legs and his feet were just fine, so he could definitely handle standing on during his shit. He might have problems turning around too fast, or breathing too much, but for the rest, he would be just fine. After he went back home and overdosed on aspiring and probably replaced his bed with an oversized bag of ice.

Anna was he only other server in the back room when he arrived. Her red hair was in disarray, like she had been running her fingers through it out of nervousness several times.

“Where were you?” she asked, in a panicked tone that indicated the situation hadn’t calmed down at all since her call. “And what happened to you?”

“I’m fine, thanks for asking,” Castiel replied as he unhanged his waistcoat and button it up, trying to mainly use his right hand when doing so.

“Zachariah is furious,” Anna kept saying. Castiel could almost see her face growing increasingly disturbed. “The French tourist all ordered different dessert, the kitchen is chaos…”

“I get it,” Castiel interrupted her, adjusting his tie as fast as he could. He tried to squash his hair with one hand (Zachariah had a policy about all his waiters looking neat and elegant all the time), but he guessed it was too late for now. “But if he’s so furious, shouldn’t you be doing something about it?” he asked as he walked past the kitchen and into the restaurant’s room, with Anna following him closely.

“Oh, no,” she said. “I’ve been covering you for hours.”

Castiel entered the floor and was met with a disheartening sight: several of the tables from his section had been hauled together to form one large banquet one. There were at least a dozen people sitting in it, and they all looked disgruntled, throwing dirty looks in Anna’s direction. One of them even threatened to stand up, probably to go towards them and asked them why their food wasn’t ready.

“They’re your problem now,” Anna said, before she disappeared in the back room again. It was obvious now that she had been hiding there out of utter despair.

Castiel took a deep breath again and went to take the orders from the other tables (who luckily didn’t order anything extravagant), all the time avoiding eye contact with the tourist, who were speaking very loudly in French. Castiel caught the words “ _mérde_ ” and “ _connard_ ” used quite liberally, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know exactly what they meant.

He went to the kitchen to place the new orders, and he was lucky enough to be intercepted by Pamela, one of the junior chefs.

“Don’t let Zacky see you,” she warned him in a whisper. “He’ll rip your head off.”

“I said pass me the stupid cream!” Zachariah was shouting somewhere in the back. “Did your mother drop you on your head when you were little or were you just born this retarded from all the meth she did?”

“Duly noted,” Castiel cringed. “Where are we on the desserts? These people look like they’re about to eat whatever person that walks them by.”

“Dude, you have no idea,” Pamela said, pointing at the dishes piling up in the sink. Samandriel, their dishwasher, was scrubbing them like his life depended on it, but the task seemed to be impossible because more dishes kept coming. “They’ll be ready soon. But in the time go offer them a bottle of wine on the house. That seemed to be the only way to appease them.”

In retrospective, Castiel should have known those weren’t direct orders from Zachariah. One, because he seemed too on the edge to be giving direct orders. And second, because he was a cheap bastard that never gave anything for free. He had forced all his waiters to buy their uniforms, for example. And he didn’t let them take the food’s leftover home, not that they didn’t do it anyway when he wasn’t looking.

But at that moment, Castiel’s mind was slipping into obsequious server mode, so he grabbed the bottle and went to the tourists’ table.

“I’m really sorry about the delay,” he said, with the humblest smile he could conjure up.

The guy who had tried getting up glared at him like he was a roach about to be crushed under his heels.

“We waited fifteen minutes,” he said, with a slight accent. “You embarrassing me in front of my friends. I told them this restaurant was good, but we’ve been waiting for too long…”

“Again, I’m sorry about that,” Castiel replied. “Can I offer you some complimentary wine while you wait?”

Several members of the party looked like they’d had more than enough already: their noses were red and their eyes a little unfocused. But at least half of them raised their glasses so Castiel could fill them. Apparently, alcohol was a universal language. The man who spoke English kept glaring at him as he moved around the table.

“Where’s red hair girl?” he asked.

“Oh, her shift has ended,” Castiel lied. Anna wouldn’t be going home for at least another six hours, just like him, but he usually covered for his female workers if someone happened to ask for them, specifically. They’d had a bad experience with an angry ex in the past, and they’d all agree that was he protocol to follow from hem on. “I’ll be your server now…”

“I want red hair girl,” the man demanded. “You’re incompetent.”

It took a real effort on Castiel’s side not to drop the smile.

“I’ll go see if your desserts are ready.”

In the kitchen, Anna laughed bitterly when Castiel comment what the tourist told him.

“They have complained about every single thing I’ve served them,” she told him. “If you’re incompetent, then I’m the fucking worker of them.”

“Forget about them, guys,” Pamela said, putting a dish of lobster in front of Anna. “Some people you just can’t please.”

Anna grabbed the dish and left. In the back of the kitchen, Zachariah had stopped shouting, apparently because the crème brulee required all of his attention at that point. Castel rubbed his ribs. They were still hurting and he should probably lie down and put a lot of ice in them (Wednesday would be really embarrassing if he started stripping with a big ass bruise on the side of his torso). Also maybe he could…

A shouting outside interrupted his thoughts. He couldn’t make out the words, but he recognized the voice: it was the French tourist who acted as interpreter for the whole group. Zachariah lifted his head from the desserts, pale but with his little eyes fuming.

“Someone go see what’s that!” he barked.

All the other staff avoided his glance and kept going like they hadn’t heard anything. Castiel ran outside before Zachariah repeated himself.

The French tourist had stood up and was shouting something incomprehensible to poor Anna. She had he back up against a wall and held onto the lobster dish like it was the only weapon she could brandish if the guy came any closer. The other clients, including the man’s party, remained silent and throwing judging glances at the whole scene, clearly thinking the waitress had done something to deserve that or maybe wondering why they were forced to stare at such a display in an elegant restaurant like that.

“Sir,” Castiel approached the man carefully. “Sir, calm down…”

The French tourist turned to him, huffing like a furious bull that’d just spotted something red. Castiel feared for his life, or at the very least, that his face would end up beaten and bruised like the rest of his body.

“You!” the man shouted, pointing an accusing finger at Castiel. “Liar on top of incompetent! Get me your boss!”

Castiel weighed in the possibilities. On one hand, it was clear the man was too drunk and too angry to reason with him. On the other, Zachariah definitely wouldn’t like this. So either way, Castiel was going to be yelled at and risk losing his job. He decided to take his chances with the random drunk rude guy over his sober furious boss.

“Sir, please, it wasn’t my coworkers fault,” he tried to explain. “I should have been your server all along. She was covering for me…”

“I don’t care!” the guy said, punctuating every word with a harsh poke of his finger on Castiel’s chest. “Get me your boss!”

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to keep your hands off me…”

“You don’t have to ask me nothing!” the man bellowed. “You shut up…!”

He took a step forwards and Castiel had no doubt in his mind that he was going to take a swing at him. And maybe he should have stood still, maybe that would have warrant him some sympathy later. But he had already endured too much physical pain for one day, so what he did instead was take a single step backwards.

And then the shit hit the fan.

The man lost his step and fell on his face, which wouldn’t have been so bad, if he hadn’t grabbed the cloth from his table on the way down. Dishes, glasses and the floral centerpiece scattered on the floor with a din too loud to be ignored anymore.

“What the hell is going on here?!” Zachariah boomed from the kitchen door.

Anna and Castiel exchanged one horrified look, knowing full well their fate was sealed.

The French tourist moaned and complained until Zachariah assured him that he did believe the fault laid entirely with his stuff. No, of course he didn’t have to pay for the broken things. No, he didn’t have to pay for the lunch either. Yes, of course they could wrap their desserts to go.

The tourists left with smug smiles on their faces, like their entire purpose had been to make themselves as obnoxious as possible and ruin Castiel’s day.

But unfortunately for him, it was nowhere near over yet. Zachariah called for an emergency meeting in the back room that was barely big enough to contain all the chefs and waiters and turned to them with his balding head tomato red and his hands clenched into tight fists.

“Who the hell was the genius that decided giving these people complimentary wine?!”

Castiel saw Pamela swallowing loudly, and Anna looking down in embarrassment.

“It was me,” he said, taking a step forwards. “I’m sorry, Mr. Smith. I thought it would calm them down. It was my fault. It won’t happen again.”

If Zachariah’s little beady eyes had been lasers, Castiel would have been pulverized on the spot.

“No, of course it won’t,” he said, his voice brimming with fury when he shouted: “You’re fired!”

 

* * *

 

Castiel considered getting fired I front of all his coworkers wasn’t nearly as humiliating as Zachariah refusing to give him his last paycheck to pay for the damages and the wine. Truth was, this job had been a nightmare to work at and he couldn’t say he was entirely sorry for losing it.

“Cas, you didn’t have to do that,” Anna told him. She looked genuinely sad as Castiel took off his waistcoat for the last time. “We could all have shared the blame…”

“No, we couldn’t,” Castiel said. “Pam has a kid and you have to pay for college somehow. I only have myself to look out for. Besides, Zachariah was out for blood and I don’t think he would have cared how much of the blame each of us has.”

Anna couldn’t argue with that.

“Are you going to be okay?”

“Yes, of course,” Castiel smiled. “Don’t worry about me.”

Anna clearly worried about him, so Castiel folded his waistcoat and handed it to her.

“You can give it to whoever comes to replace me,” he told her. “That way they won’t have to buy it.”

“You’re too good for this world,” Anna huffed. She threw her arms around Castiel’s neck and gave him a peck near the lips. “Listen, if you need anything, call me, okay?”

“That’s very generous, Anna,” he said. “Thank you.”

But of course he wasn’t going to call. Anna was busy enough with her studies and it wouldn’t be fair for him to interrupt that or to ask her for money she needed more than he did.

He had taken two steps outside when the backdoor opened again.

“Cas, wait!” Pamela called him and ran to catch up to him. “Here, take these.”

She put a plastic bag in his hand. When Castiel peeked inside, he realized they were the leftovers from the day that they normally shared out between all the members of the staff at the end of the day.

“Pamela, I can’t…”

“We want you to have them,” Pamela said, stepping backwards so Castiel couldn’t hand the bag back to him. “Zach was a dick and we all agreed you deserved them.”

Castiel tried to speak, but he couldn’t. He was choking up a little, partly because of his ex-coworker’s generosity, partly because Pamela had laid a hand on his pained shoulder.

“Thank you,” she said, before she went back inside.

The ride home on the bus was miserable. His ribs were hurting again and wouldn’t let him concentrate on the numbers he had to make to calculate how long he could go on without a job, and how much he would need to make to survive for a few more months. He had enough saved up to pay for the following two weeks of rent, but after that, he would have to start cutting out on certain luxuries. Like food and heating.

He could also consider finding different accommodations, but he doubted there was anything cheaper that his one-bedroom apartment in that old building with rusty stairs and no elevator. The door creaked when he opened it. The place really was kind of sad. He had a kitchen that was big enough for one person standing up, and his bed and the closet made everything looked crowded. It would have been a luxury to have a TV or a couch, so he had decided to do without them. There was barely room for him to move, let alone practice his dancing.

He took off his shirt and grimaced at the mirror. The bruises on his shoulder and his torso were black and ugly, and he prayed to God they would vanish before Wednesday. He wrapped some ice on a kitchen towel and put it against his skin. He was shivering violently, maybe because the apartment was so cold, but it could also be the result of not eating anything since the half cup of coffee he chugged down before running to catch the bus. Moving very slowly, he took one of the containers from the plastic bag and pushed it inside the microwave without even checking what kind of food it was. One it was slowly spinning, he considered his options.

He could get another day job, for sure. Nothing fancy. Maybe retail or serving tables again. As humiliating and out of expertise those jobs were, they were the only one that he ‘d got when he starting searching. He still remembered the looks of almost mockery the first couple of potentials employers had given him.

“Dance academy?” one of them had asked, shaking her head. “What the hell do I want a dancer for?”

Eventually Castiel had learned to let that particular tidbit about his education out of his curriculum.

But maybe he could hit the dance schools and theater district again. Maybe some other dancer or instructor had left their job or died since he’d last tried his luck there. And yes, he knew it wasn’t nice of him to think those things, but he could only hope.

It had been at one of those of places that a guy had given him Balthazar’s business card, after an audition that hadn’t gone well for either of them.

“I worked for him until last year,” he’d told him. Castiel didn’t know his name, but he remembered his broad shoulders and his dark eyes. “They tip well, and at least it’ll help you keep in shape. Hell, I’m thinking about coming back if I have no luck.”

“This is a strip club,” Castiel had pointed out, not knowing whether to feel amused or offended.

The other dancer had shrugged, as if to say that beggars couldn’t be choosers.

Castiel had spent four months telling himself he wasn’t that desperate, but he had hanged onto Balthazar’s card, almost as if he knew desperation was just around the corner. He only called when he realized that go on paying for a gym membership on his budget was almost suicidal.

And last night, he had told himself he didn’t need to accept Balthazar’s offer to work another night at the club. But now he was seriously reconsidering.

The beeping of the microwave brought him back to reality. He took out the foo (it was a piece of beef with mashed potatoes), and set them on his tiny table.

Of course, he could always call home and ask for help. Though knowing his mother, it would be more like _begging_ for help.

“Well, weren’t you all grown up and independent now?” he could almost hear Naomi’s voice in his head. “Of course, I will help you Castiel, but just so you know, this wouldn’t have happened if you would have studied a suitable career instead of wasting your time with your… hobby. It’s not too late for you to go back to college, you know. I’m sure your father would be more than willing to help you finance it.”

Castiel sighed and stuck a spoonful of mashed potatoes in his mouth. Yes, his father. That was a completely different animal. First, he would have to get him to answer the phone. If he wasn’t too busy attending a convention or in the middle of his latest book tour, Castiel would be lucky to get a hold of his agent. Or he could be at home lost in a drunken stupor, in which case, Castiel would have to leave a message and wait for at least two weeks, until them moment his father was looking for a reason to procrastinate on his writing. Yes, he would give him whatever Castiel asked for without asking too many questions or trying to guilt him into abandoning his ambitions, but he’d only do it so Castiel would leave him alone again.

He didn’t feel like dealing with any of them.

He finished his solitary dinner, with the ugly feeling he’d only been prolonging the inevitable.

Balthazar answered after the second ring.

“Yes, darling?”

“Uh… hey, Balthazar, I have a question about something you told me yesterday,” Castiel said, cringing a little. “Can I come to talk to you before the club opens?”


	3. Chapter 3

Castiel had the impression Balthazar’s office was a little less messy than before. At the very least the ashtrays looked emptier, like he had thrown all the butts away at the end of the week but was decided to fill them again very soon.

“Well, there are a few simple options you have,” Balthazar said, with his eternal cigarette in his hand. “You could, for example, join some of the other boys in their act. Homo erotic tension between the dancers is rather popular, believe it or not.”

“I thought Sam and Dean already had a double act,” Castiel pointed out.

“They do, that’s true,” Balthazar admitted, pensive. “And you would have to practically copulate on stage to top them.”

He took one last drag and used the butt of his cigarette to light another.

“You could choose more sexy rhythms. I mean, you definitely need to ditch the whole slow artistic thing,” he continued. “Or you could drop the priest act and do something else.”

“The priest act was your idea,” Castiel reminded him.

“Yes, well,” Balthazar shrugged. “I thought a little bit of sacrilege would go well with you. You have that fallen angel look about you, like you’re far too good and too innocent to be working at a place like this.”

Fallen angel. Meg had also thought a pair of wings would go along with his back muscles. Why did everyone keep telling him that? Well, whatever it was, perhaps he could play it off…

Balthazar’s ring of smoke flew directly into his face. Castiel coughed and wiped the tears from his eyes, staring at his boss without understanding why he would do that.

“You’re thinking,” he pointed out, like that wasn’t the entire point of that meeting. “What are you thinking about?”

“Just… uh…” Castiel didn’t know exactly how to answer that question. It was like the idea had flickered briefly through his mind and now it was gone. “I was just thinking…”

Whatever he was thinking vanished once more when Balthazar began coughing. At first Castiel didn’t worry, because he was always coughing with that dry smoker’s cough. But this time it went on and on for several minutes, until it became heaving, ugly sound that was nothing like Balthazar’s usual coughing. His boss was red in the face, tears running down his cheek and a trembling hand clutching his chest.

“Balthazar?” Castiel asked, standing up. “Are you…?”

Balthazar shook his head, and did something Castiel never thought he’d seen him do: he squashed the cigarette on the desk.

“What can I do?” Castiel continued, taking a hesitant step towards his boss. “Balthazar…”

“Wa… water…” Balthazar gasped, right before the coughing took over his voice again.

Castiel ran outside to the water-cooler in the corner of the hallway, all the time fearing that Balthazar would be passed out on his desk when he returned to the office, his chest unmoving and his lips blue… But by the time he put the plastic in his boss’ hands, the crisis had receded. Balthazar’s breath was still a little shaky, but he managed to take two gulps of the water without choking.

“Goddammit,” he muttered, and incredibly, he pulled out his cigarette package from his pocket. “This bloody cold…”

“Uh… perhaps you shouldn’t… do that,” Castiel commented, but Balthazar had already put a cigarette between his lips.

“Nonsense. Do you know how many times my doctor has warned me these are going to kill me?” Balthazar’s laugh was bitter, like he knew exactly how many times. “I just can’t quit the little devils.”

However, he didn’t take out his lighter to turn it on.

“Why don’t you stay for tonight’s show?” Balthazar suggested. “Watch how the other boys do it. Maybe they’ll inspire you and you’ll come up with something.”

“Okay,” Castiel nodded. He still was hesitant to leave in case Balthazar started coughing again, but he dismissed him with a hand gesture.

“Go sit by the bar. Tell Rudy to get you whatever you want to drink.”

The click of the lighter echoed in the office before Castiel closed the door behind him.

They’d only just opened, but apparently the club was going to be as crowded, if not more, than the previous night. Benny was at the door, checking the ID's of a group of four girls. Castiel couldn't be sure they weren’t the same ones that had been there the previous day, but the group of women in their thirties that walked in waving plastic dicks and making an all-around scandal were definitely different. Did they have bachelorette's parties every single weekend or was late January just a popular season for weddings? He supposed it just gave the newlyweds to spend Valentine’s Day on their honeymoon.

"Hey, Cas!" Rudy, the bearded bartender, greeted him when Castiel found one of the last empty stools next to the counter. "What are you doing here tonight?"

"Just... looking for inspiration," Castiel cringed. Even the explanation sounded a bit like a stretch. "Can I have a beer, please?"

"Sure thing, bud."

Castiel was about to turn around and keep looking at the people when a voice like a husky whisper rumbled in his ear:

"So... you're not dancing tonight?"

He didn't need the shudder that went down his spine to realize who it was.

Meg was wearing a red flannel dress with a wide belt around her waist, but she was still wearing the combat boots. She had a martini cup in her hand, with the same pink drink she'd had, and was smirking like she enjoyed Castiel's disconcert.

"Uh... hi," Castiel mumbled when he realized she was expecting him to say something.

"Hello again," she greeted him. "Glad to see you, Jimmy. Shame it's with your clothes on."

She took the cherry from her drink and bit very tenderly with a grin. Castiel had the distinctive impression she knew exactly what she as doing to him.

"Uhm... yes," he made a pause when Rudy put the beer bottle in front of him and opened it. "It's actually my free night."

"Really?" she chuckled. "And what are you doing here? Are you some sort of workaholic?"

"No, just..."

"Came in to check the competition?"

"Maybe... something like that?" Castiel answered, nervously.

Meg just kept looking at him with that same smirk, so he made a point to avoid her gaze and take a long swig from his beer. And then another one just for good measure.

"Well, that's too bad," Meg said, clicking her tongue. "I was really hoping to see that strong back of yours again."

Castiel opened his mouth to say something, but he had no answer to that and besides, even if he did, he would have to scream to make himself heard: the music and the hysterical, piercing shrieks around the stage had both just reached deafening volumes.

Michael came on to the stage in full police officer gear, blinked the audience and proceeded to point his fake gun at them by holding it so close to his crotch it was hard to miss the symbolism.

Meg chuckled behind Castiel, and he got strangely defensive. Why was she laughing? She hadn't laughed when he was dancing. Did she find that more entertaining than his act? Michael with his... abs and his hips swaying madly around as he rip off his pants to reveal a G string that didn't left much to the imagination. Was she somehow interested in drawing him? What exactly were her criteria when choosing models for her work? Did they just have to have a nice back or was there something else she looked for in them?

Why did he suddenly want to know all those things about her?

The public when wild when Michael finished dancing, sweaty and heaving, and they practically jumped towards the stage, waving the dollars they wanted to stick on his underwear. He thanked them all with a wave and more blinks before walking out of the stage. He crossed paths with Balthazar, who patted him in the back before he took to the stage.

“Woah, what a nice way to start the night, huh, ladies?” he joked. “Bet more than one of you is thinking about misbehaving to see if Officer Naughty puts his handcuffs on you.”

There was a collective laughter, and Castiel had the impression that was exactly what the clients were thinking.

“Rudy, get me another,” Meg asked by his side. “Put an extra cherry this time.”

“Let’s get the lights on you, pretty ladies, let’s see who’s here tonight,” Balthazar continued. “My, my, another bride to be!” he exclaimed, and the bachelorette party group cheered. “You’re the second one this week. It’s a shame, seems the boys out there are snatching all the most beautiful ones!”

Castiel never had the chance to see him host: he was usually on the back, getting ready for his act or gathering his things to make a swift escape. But it was clear Balthazar knew what he was doing. He was nowhere near as fit as the dancers, of course, but standing there with his V-neck, a hand on his pocket, and the other holding the microphone in a very suggestive way, it was clear he knew exactly how to work the room.

“Is your fiancé as good looking as the boys here, darling?”

“Eh…” the bachelorette answered, making a so-so gesture with her hand. The room exploded in laughter again.

“Thought so!” Balthazar chuckled. “Oh, but don’t worry about it. Tonight you can have some fun ogling at how many pretty boys you want.”

The cheering seemed to go on for a full minute this time, and someone even shouted:

“You should take it off!”

“Oh, no, darling, come on, we’ve got to keep it somewhat civilized,” he said, and smiled when there was a collective boo of disappointment. “Besides, I don’t want to make all the boys self-conscious.”

He strutted to the middle of the stage… and proceeded to very slowly peel off his jacket while the audience clapped happily.

“I don’t understand,” Castiel said out loud. “He’s not actually… he’s not stripping.”

“Oh, come on,” Meg giggled by his side. “Having a good looking guy do whatever you tell him to it’s part of the fantasy.”

“You think Balthazar’s good looking?”

“Yes. In an older, fancy gentleman kind of way,” Meg explained. “The accent is sexy too, definitely. Besides, he’s funny. He has showmanship.”

Castiel had to agree with both those affirmations. Balthazar was swinging his jacket over his head and moving his long legs with very suggestive moves. Why it’d never occurred to him that Balthazar might have been a dancer too at some point?

“Okay,” he said. Suddenly it occurred to him that to know how to better entertain the clients he could actually ask one of them in person, so he spun his stool to face her. “And what did you like about Michael?”

Meg sucked on her cherry for a moment, like she was thinking long and hard about the question.

“The absolute lack of self-consciousness,” she replied. “He knows he’s being ridiculous and showy, and he just revels in it. There are some guys who take this way too seriously.”

Castiel cringe. He had the feeling Meg had meant him, specifically. He had never meant to have fun while dancing up there on the stage; he had been too busy incorporating acrobatics and tricks into his act.

“Very well, very well,” Balthazar said, putting his jacket back on. “Don’t forget, you can request a private dance at any moment just approaching the bar and telling Rudy which boy you’d like to see in private and your name. It doesn’t have to be your real name, though,” he added, with a wink. “In name of the Heaven on Earth, I thank you all for coming tonight. I hope you have loads of fun and don’t forget to tip generously. Now, please welcome… the Campbell brothers!”

“I always wondered if Campbell was their real name,” Meg commented casually.

“They’ve told me it’s their mother’s maiden name,” Castiel said thoughtlessly as Dean and Sam walked onto the stage to thunderous applause in their flannel shirt and cowboy boots and hats. Instantly, he regretted it: the brothers might not have wanted that information to be shared with someone else, and clearly, Meg considered it hilarious.

“And they use it for their stripper names? That is golden!”

Castiel couldn’t answer, because the notes of _Dead or Alive_ drowned his words. The at consisted in Sam as a sheriff trying to catch a criminal (Dean) and apparently, every time they tried to shoot at each other, they lost an item of clothing instead, until they were down to their underwear, their boots and their hats. They weren’t great dancers, per se, but their performance was so funny the public was rolling with laughter and practically running into each other trying to reach the boy’s hips to give their tips. A couple of them actually got up and went straight to the bar to ask Rudy if she could have a private dance with both of them.

“Sorry, one per client,” Rudy shrugged, apologetically.

“See, they’re not really that good dancing,” Meg commented without waiting for Castiel to ask her about it. “But they’re confident and charming, and they know how to use that.”

“And how about him?” Castiel asked again after Gadreel’s act in military clothes.

“Oh, he’s just hot,” Meg shrugged. “And he fits the act. He definitely does look like a stern soldier that will rescue you. He knows exactly how to give credibility to it. Sometimes it really is just a matter of looking the part. They used to have this Chinese dancer who always played a ninja assassin, and he had this really sexy tattoo of a dragon in his back.”

“So how long have you been coming here?” Castel asked. Because it was obvious Meg had an opinion on every single one of the dancers, even the ones who apparently didn’t work there anymore. And she seemed to have particularly detailed opinion of their backs.

“A while,” Meg admitted. “I told you, I like to ogle at pretty guys.”

And she leaned her chin on her hand to ogle directly at him with a smirk in her red lips. Castiel couldn’t help but to chuckle. Meg was honest and funny on top of very attractive, and he might have had more beers than he originally intended as the night went on, because he was seriously considering asking her to go to a place where they could talk without being interrupted by loud music every ten minutes or so. Was that unprofessional? He wasn’t working that night, so technically she wasn’t a client, but she was a regular so she could be a client again at any moment and…

Meg’s smirk dissolved into a gesture of disgust. Castiel began fearing that in his intoxication he might have said something inappropriate, but Meg was looking at the stage again.

“Ugh, not this guy,” she groaned.

A man with dark blonde hair had come up, dressed up in a grey suit and a tie and smiling wide at the audience. He dragged chair besides him and sat on it with his long legs spread as a female voice came from the speakers:

“ _Mr. Grey will see you now…_ ”

“I’m going to be sick,” Meg commented.

Those were the last words Castiel could hear before the crowd just completely _lost it_. It was like watching a wave (or more like a tsunami) crash against the stage, as every single woman in the club got up and ran towards it, shrieking so loud the music was muffled by them. The blonde man started a slow, seductive dance as he stood on the chair, almost like he was trying to escape from the seemingly hundreds of hands reaching out towards him. But when the reflectors moved towards him, he had a satisfied beam in his mouth, like he knew exactly this would happen and was enjoying every second of it. He looked around intently and then extended a hand to the bachelorette to help her up at the stage, made her twirl around and then took off his tie to fasten her hands together before sitting her on the chair.

“That doesn’t seem… Meg?”

Meg was extending her credit card to Rudy, who showed her a thumb up before moving away. Meg jumped from her stool, grabbed her bag and swung it over her shoulder.

“This has been nice!” she shouted over the scandal. “But I have to go!”

“What? Why?”

Rudy returned with a card and a piece of paper for Meg to sign.

“Wait, Meg!” Castiel stumbled, held on to the counter and waited for the room to stop spinning before talking again.

By the time that happened, Meg had already crossed the club and there was no way she would hear even if he called out to her. He considered going after her, but he knew right away he wouldn’t be able to run in that stage without falling flat on his face for the second time that day. So he watched her bleached blonde hair disappear through the door while he slowly sat back down on the stool.

“Rudy! Hey! Come here!

“You want another beer? Or I sign you up for a private dance?” Rudy asked, and laughed at his own joke. Castiel ignored him and leaned over the counter so they could speak.

“Who’s that guy?” he asked, pointing at the stage.

The dancer had now taken off his shirt and somehow produced a whip he held between his teeth, while standing with one foot on the chair right between the bachelorette’s legs. Castiel was pretty certain that was a flagrant invasion of personal space, but the woman seemed unable to stop laughing.

“That’s Lucifer!” Rudy replied. “He only works here on Saturdays! He’s really popular doing the whole Fifty Shades of Grey shtick!”

“What’s Meg’s problem with him?”

Rudy shrugged, as if to say he either didn’t know or couldn’t explain it properly in that context.

“So you’re having another beer?”

“No,” Castile shook his head and that made the whole room start spinning. “Just, uh… tell Balthazar thanks for everything and I’ll see him on Wednesday!”

Rudy lifted his thumb again.

The cool air outside help a little with Castiel’s dizziness, but he still had to hang on to a wall for couple of seconds. He looked around, but of course, Meg was long gone. The only other people in the street besides him where a couple of girls trying to talk Benny into letting them in, even though it was pretty late and they had already missed more than half of the show. Castiel waved at Benny but he didn’t think the bouncer saw him, so he started making his way (slowly) towards the corner. But when he looked at his phone, he realized the last bus had passed fifteen minutes ago. He could walk home and risk getting mugged, or catch a cab and risk not eating for the next week or so to afford it.

He decided to take his chance with the hypothetical muggers. He was still warm from the club’s ambient and he might have sobered up enough to think about Meg some more by the time he was in his apartment and in his bed. Not that he would… think about Meg while… ugh.

Castiel had other ambitions that came before meeting someone and settling, and though he never closed the door to that possibility, he was pretty certain that was not going to be his ultimate fate. Since he’d moved to the city back in September, he had been so busy working, training and going to failed auditions that whenever someone from the restaurant suggested they should all go to enjoy the happy hour at the end of their shifts and see if they “met someone”, he had been too exhausted to accept. He simply didn’t have the time for sex or dating.

But of course, working in such a sexually charged ambient and meeting Meg (Meg with her arms full of tattoos and her full lips and her voice that made even the most innocuous things she said sound like she was insinuating an invitation to kiss her) had got him to think about it again. And it was really bad timing, because right now, he was a broke-ass stripper with nothing to offer to a potential partner. He supposed he could propose a relationship entirely based on sex, but he’d been conditioned by years of Christian education to still believe that love and sex (not to mention marriage) should go hand in hand.

No, it was probably best if he forgot about it. He should even forget the little business card Meg had given him. She probably didn’t even mean all that about him going to see her. He probably shouldn’t have kept in. In the second drawer of his night table, between the pages of a book his cousin Hael had given him as a farewell present before he moved. In page two hundred forty four, to be exact. He didn’t know why he remembered that so clearly.

He was tempted to check if it was still there when he got home. He stripped, wrapped himself in several blankets and closed his eyes, and told himself once more that he needed to stop thinking about Meg.

He was in the club, dancing. It was a slow, sweet song he didn’t recognize. It had an old timey feeling to it, but he was pretty certain he’d heard it somewhere recently, maybe even considered dancing to it.

_My lover's got humor_

_She's the giggle at a funeral_

_Knows everybody's disapproval_

_I should've worshipped her sooner…_

Because he was dancing to it. He was moving his body slowly, arms and legs open wide as he jumped and spun on the stage. He didn’t have to worry about taking off his clothes because he already had: he was naked underneath the stage lights, but he didn’t feel embarrassed or self-conscious. No one was shouting obscenities or leering at him. In fact, there was only one person there besides him.

Meg was sitting in an armchair closer to the stage that was usually allowed. She had a drink on her hand and a smirk. Strangely, her nose ring was gone, and the tattoos in her arms were a mess of colors that kept changing, disappearing to reappear elsewhere. A dolphin she had in her right shoulder swam down to her wrists, while the rose in her left forearm bloomed and withered and then bloomed again.

It was so fascinating to watch it distracted Castiel from his dancing, but that was fine. He didn’t want to dance anymore. He wanted to trace the outline of those drawings with his fingertips first, and then with his lips. Meg, seemingly reading his thoughts, stood up and walked to the stage while the music reached a crescendo.

_I was born sick, but I love it_

_Command me to be well_

_Amen. Amen. Amen._

Castiel extended his hands towards him and she gracefully climbed up to join him. His skin tingled as he pulled her close to unbuckle her belt. Clothes were not allowed up there, and Meg understood that, because she unbuttoned her dress and let it fall to reveal her shoulders, also covered in ever-changing colors and shapes.

_Take me to church_

_I'll worship like a dog_

_At the shrine of your lies_

Castiel kissed every one of them, even though some tried to escape him by sliding down Meg’s back. He wished he could explain to them he only meant good things, he only wanted to caress them and adore them, just like he adored the person they belonged to.

Meg kissed him back while the chorus of the song seemed to go on and on. Her teeth gently sank right beneath his ear, while her hardened nipples pressed against his chest. Castiel sank his nose, with one hand wrapped around her waist while the other slid between her legs, to caress the tender warmness of her sex…

_I'll tell you my sins_

_And you can sharpen your knife_

_Offer me that deathless death_

_Good God, let me give you my life_

He woke up with the blankets tangled on his legs and a very uncomfortable erection.

Well, at least the dream had kept him from the cold reality of his apartment. Literally. Were they ever going to fix the stupid heating?

He didn’t stay on the shower for long, but the freezing water prevented him from finishing what his subconscious had started. It was evident, however, that he wasn’t going to get Meg off his mind any time soon.

He sat on his bed, waiting for his shivering to stop and took out the book. Meg’s card was exactly where he’d left it, with the little skull smiling mockingly at him. It was almost like it was reminding him he actually had no actual excuse to go see her.

“Hi, I was just thinking about you…”

And decided to drop by your workplace like a common stalker. Classy.

“You know, I had a dream about you…”

That was even worse, considering the kind of dream it had been.

“Hey, I really liked the talk we had the other day and I was wondering if you’d like to go out for drinks with me sometime…”

Except that he didn’t have any money to ask her out for drinks. Or to anywhere, if he was being honest. Maybe he should concentrate on getting a new day job and pitching an idea to Balthazar that was good enough to get Castiel a spot on the Saturday night show before he even…

… hadn’t Meg said something about a guy with a dragon tattoo on his back?


	4. Chapter 4

From the outside, the shop didn't look like much. It was small, with a neon sign that read Masters' Ink & Piercings, and a skull with bat wings underneath. The front was painted red and black, because in Tom's opinion it looked pretty metal. Meg had added green vines and flowers, because in her opinion, those colors looked lame and boring and her brother needed to brighten the fuck up.

They had argued for ages about what the inside should look like. Tom wanted it to have photos of the tattoos they had made (with their clients permission, of course) and Meg had reminded him that since they were only just starting, the walls would be stark white for a while and that's wasn't very friendly or pretty.

In the end, they had agreed to hang pictures of tattooed famous people (mostly rock stars with every inch of their skin covered in ink) and at least one of Meg's paintings. Meg had protested again that the one Tom wanted wasn't gone enough and to give her time to paint another, Tom had completely disregarded her opinion and hanged it anyway, too high for Meg to take down unless she physically dragged a stair to it. It was sort of an abstract piece in blue, orange and green, supposed to represent a sunset (or a sunrise) above the sea. Meg would insist to anyone that would listen to her that it wasn't her best work, but she still never went through the pain of removing it.

So it still hanged there, behind the desk where they took turns to sit, answer phone calls and charge people for their work. They called it “the reception”, as a sort of an inside joke. There was also a leather couch and a coffee table overflowing with tats magazines and folders containing their exclusive designs. A screen with spiraling patterns separated the waiting area from another with a wall covered by an enormous mirror. Two leaning chairs and a table where they kept needles, gloves and ink, completed the room. There was a coffee machine right next to the stairs that led to their apartment on the second floor, and that was it.

So yeah, the shop maybe didn't look like much. But Meg was proud of it. It was theirs, they had built it up from the ground up as a testimony that despite all the disagreements and falling outs they’d had in the past, Tom and her could still live and work together. They were still a family.

Monday afternoons usually weren’t busy. The only ever had the college students feeling adventurous and the high school kids without a parents permit came in on a whim decided they wanted matching tattoos with their boyfriends, or a little bird to symbolize their freedom or their womanhood or something equally asinine. Tom and Meg did their best to dissuade them and when they couldn't, they used the excuse of being packed and told them to make an appointment for another day. That gave the clients time to reconsider and saved Tom and Meg from having their names cursed to the winds after the inevitable break-up or the parents suing them when they found out.

But sometimes the store was so empty they had no option but to agree, if the person was of age and presented the proper ID’s, as the two kids who’d walked in half an hour ago did. They both had turned eighteen last year and it was painfully obvious that they were still in high school, she there was a high chance their relationship would go to hell before the healing process was even done. But Tom had shrugged and accepted whatever possible consequence could come from tattooing them.

So a guiltless Meg sat on the reception, drank her coffee and doodled on her notebook while listening to the little whimpers and cries of the guy Tom was working on. It was funny, because the girlfriend hadn't made a sound while she was getting her swallow tattooed, but when it was his turn, he had needed all sorts of coaxing and convincing to get in the chair. Meg had heard protests of “But what if it hurts?” and “This was your stupid idea, now you’re gonna go through with it!” The girlfriend was probably reconsidering their entire relationship. Meg would be too if someone had talked her into getting her first tattoo and then tried ot back down from the deal.

“Okay, maybe if you could go just a little slower… ouch, ouch!”

“It would much easier if you stopped wriggling, Aiden.”

Tom didn’t say anything. He wasn’t a very talkative person, but Meg could imagine his face of irritation so clearly she could have drawn it with her eyes closed. She snickered a little bit, thinking how she was going to tease him when it was done.

The bell above the door tinkled. Meg took her time to close her notebook and start speaking:

“Welcome. We’re a little busy right now, but we’ll be free shortly, so if you’d like to sit and wait you’re welcome to do so,” she recited almost without breathing. “If you would like to make an appointment…”

The words froze in her mouth.

Jimmy was there, looking a little lost, like he had wandered into the shop completely by mistake. It was so weird to see him under actual normal lights instead of the flashy ones at the club or the dim illumination of the VIP room. He had a bit of stubble in his rosy cheeks, his jacket looked way too thin for the weather outside and he was actually stomping a little, as if he was trying to get rid of the cold that way. That caused a tug on Meg’s chest, because it was simply too adorable.

Or maybe it was the fear Tom would find out she had been visiting the Heaven on Earth again.

Either way, Jimmy lifted his eyes at her (oh, God, why hadn’t she realized how bright and blue they were) and approached the desk with a shy smile on his lips.

“Uh… hi,” he said. He sounded hesitant, like he wasn’t sure that was the right word you used when you greeted people.

“Hi,” Meg replied clumsily. Then she slapped herself mentally. She had no reason to be nervous. He was just a guy. Guys never made her nervous, not even gorgeous ones like Jimmy. “Hey, good to see you again.”

“Yes,” he said, taking another step towards the desk. “You too.”

He did wed movement with his hands, like he wanted to offer it to Meg for shaking, but at the last second, he decided to scratch the back of his head instead.

Meg thought it would be best if she just treated him like any other client.

“So… come here for a piercing?”

“No, actually,” he said. “I was just thinking…”

He was interrupted by a loud howl from behind the screen, followed by more protests from the girlfriend that he was a coward. Tom was doing all he could to not save up the kid any pain at all. Meg bit back the amused smile at Jimmy’s confused expression.

“I was… thinking… about getting a tattoo,” he explained after a few seconds. “But, uh… I think I’m changing my mind.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Meg laughed. “It really doesn’t hurt that much. Some people just have a low threshold for pain.”

Her comment was punctuated by another whimper.

“Aiden, oh, my God,” the girlfriend said, clearly embarrassed. “Just stop. It’s over, you see?”

“And it depends on where you want it and how big you want it, of course,” Meg continued explaining. “Smaller tattoos heal much faster, of course.”

Tom reemerged from behind the screen, and groaned at Meg, which usually meant he was taking a break. Meg noticed that while the little lovebirds had walked in holding hands, now they were making a point not to touch each other and the boy had tears gathering up in his eyes while gently sobbing the area over his ribs.

“Sit down,” she told Jimmy. “I’ll be with you in a sec.”

She whipped off the standard list of aftercare measures they had to take, like avoiding sun and water and not scratching the scabs and…

“What if it gets infected?” Aiden asked, with a look of horror  in his face.

“That’s why you gotta follow the instructions, moron,” the girlfriend replied, clearly tired of her boyfriend’s apprehension. “We’re paying separately.”

“What?” Aiden asked, but the girl had already pulled out her wallet. “Wait, Krissy, are you mad? Why are you mad? Krissy!”

Krissy finished paying and left the store without even checking if Aiden was following her. Aiden tried to follow her, but Meg stopped him before he could even reach the door.

“You haven’t paid, Romeo,” she reminded him.

“Uh… I’m in bit of a hurry…”

“Sure, that’s fine,” Meg shrugged. “I’ll just call your house and tell the first person who picks up all about how you owe us.”

Jimmy snickered behind the magazine he was checking, and Meg smirked at him, glad somebody could appreciate how perfectly delivered that threat of calling the parents had been. Aiden paid with a grimace of fear and then ran outside after Krissy without even bother taking the pamphlet on aftercare Meg was offering him.

“One of the two,” she told Jimmy. “The parents won’t find out about this until years down the line or they’ll be here two days from now screaming about how I gave their kids an infection.”

“Does it happen a lot?”

“So much we even got standardized answers for it,” Meg joked, and he chuckled again. She liked his laughter, it made his features look softer and his eyes brighter and she really, really needed to stop thinking like that.

She stood up and went to sit by his side on the leather couch. He shuffled a little, like he hadn’t expected her to come so close, but Meg pretended not to notice.

“So, tell me what you had in mind,” she asked, with her nicest smile.

She had expected him to point at one of the designs in the magazine, which would keep her busy for an hour or so, and maybe she would come to find his real name and get his phone number, not that she was thinking about calling and…

“I was thinking… something big,” he told her, surprising her. “For my back.”

Meg stared at him for a second, half hoping he’d tell her he was joking and he had actually had gone all the way there to ask her out on a date. But he seemed deadly serious, and not inclined to elaborate until Meg asked him directly.

“Okay,” she said. “Uh… you know I was joking when I said you should get wings tattooed, right?”

“Yes, I am aware of that,” he said. “But I have been thinking about it ever since and I’m certain now that you were right. Maybe adorning my body will be the key to improving my act, or at least to give it an identity that will distinguish it from my coworker’s.”

Who talked like that? He sounded super formal, like one of those stiffed guys in Victorian pornographic novels Meg sometimes read when she was bored. It was kind of annoying. But also kind of cute.

“Your act was just fine,” she said, sincerely. “I liked it.”

His cheeks reddened again and he looked away, like he wasn’t used to receive such a direct compliment.

“Thank you,” he said. “But my boss doesn’t agree with you, so…”

“So you’re getting a huge tattoo to stand out?” she frowned.

“This is one of several ideas I’ve been considering,” he explained. He sounded a little defensive now. “I just wanted to consult you on the matter… because you’re the only tattoo artist I know, to be quite honest.”

“Well…” Meg started, trying to choose the words wisely. “I think a tattoo like that deserves you consider it very carefully and explore your other options, especially if it’s your first. You don’t know if you’ll be able to handle the pain. It’s going to alter your body permanently…”

“Not to mention it’ll be expensive as fuck,” Tom added.

Jimmy startled, but Mg was already used to her brother appearing seemingly out of nowhere, usually with a cigarette or a cup of coffee in hand. In this case was the latter, and he sipped from it while attentively watching Jimmy.

“That’s true,” Meg admitted. “We charge fifty dollars for hour, and a big tattoo could take anywhere from six to twelve hours. Broken down in shorter sessions over a couple of days, of course, but…”

“We’re talking around six hundred dollars,” Jimmy cringed.

“Tops,” Meg said, but it was obvious that money was an issue for him. She wondered how much he would make at the club and if he’d have a day job. “So yeah, you gotta think about that too.”

Jimmy was apparently already thinking about it, and he didn’t seem to like the numbers he was getting.

“Okay,” he said. He left the magazine on the pile from which he’d grabbed it and smile politely at Meg. “Uh… that’s actually a bit over my current budget.”

Tom let out a sigh that sounded a lot like the word: ‘ _Figures_ ’.

“But I will talk it over with my boss and let you know,” Jimmy replied as if he hadn’t heard, but if his cheeks were anything to judge by, he definitely had. “Is that… is that okay? Can I do that?”

“Yes, of course,” Meg said, trying to sound a lot nicer than her brother had been. “You think it over and call us. You know where to find us.”

"Right," Jimmy laughed.

He tried to stand up at the sme time Meg did and she ended up unwittingly blocking his path. She had to step back and get her back against the wall before he could have a free way to the door. It was awkward, but the little shy smile he gave her as he was about to leave was the most adorable thing Meg had seen in a while. God, how could he be this sexy with his clothes on?

"Well, I'll be in touch," he promised. "Uh... see you."

"Bye, Clarence."

She didn't know why she said that. It was a stupid thing to say. Yeah, it was something they had laughed over this one time when they had been alone and not screaming over the music to make themselves heard. Sort of like a private joke. But what if he didn't like to be reminded of that? What if he didn't want to talk about his job there, in front of Tom, who was a stranger who didn't know about it? Or maybe it was just her who didn't want her brother to know she had started visiting the Heaven and Hell again. But then again, Jimmy had already mentioned his boss in a conversation about extreme body modification, so...

"It's, uh... Castiel."

It took Meg a couple of seconds to realize he wasn't joking.

"Really?"

"Castiel is the angel of Thursdays," he explained, with the tired tone of someone who'd had to do that every time he introduced himself. "I was born on a Thursday. My dad thought it was funny."

"Well, that's pretty cute," Meg smirked.

Jimmy... Castiel laughed again and stared down at his shoes. Tom made a gagging sound.

"Excuse me, I think I need a shot of insulin now," he said, disappearing behind the screen. Probably to make himself another coffee, since Meg didn't think they had any insulin lying around.

But the comment clearly made Castiel uncomfortable, or maybe he didn't have anything left to say, becuase he kind of half-waved at Meg and then fled the store with his face bright red.

"Would you mind not antagonizing the clients?" Meg asked. She knew Tom could hear her.

"I wasn't antagonizing a client," Tom replied. "I was mocking a guy who clearly didn't want a tat and just used the excuse to come make eyes at my lil' sister."

"He wasn't making eyes at me," Meg protested. On principle alone, because she thought she had sense some sort of underlying interest in Castiel's inquiries and it didn't irritate her as much as it apparently did Tom. "Do you think he was making eyes at me?"

Instead of answering, Tom placed her favorite mug filled to the brim with smoking black coffee on her desk. He always knew what peace offerings worked better on her.

"So where did you meet him?" he asked. "College? Some bar?"

Meg returned to her chair and wrapped her hands around the mug.

"He was... a model," she explained. "For a painting I'm working on. He has pretty back muscles."

That was all technically true and she knew that mentioning her sexual exploits was a surefire way to let Tom to stop asking about anything. Like clockwise, Tom cringed and shuddered.

"You're not thinking about banging him, are you?" he asked, disgusted.

Meg shrugged. That was also technically true. She would most definitely bang Castiel if the opportunity presented itself.

"Ugh, whatever," Tom said, as if she had expressed those thoughts out loud. "Just let me know when so I can dust my noise-cancelling earphones."

"I'm not that loud," Meg protested. "Your girlfriends, however, tend to be. Need I remind you about Moaning Bela?"

"And this conversation is over now," Tom said, which was exactly what Meg wanted.

But as it happened with many things, as soon as she got it, she discovered it wasn't all she expected it to be. She had mastered the art of looking cool and collected when her thoughts were a mess, especially if someone was looking. Not having someone interrupted them, however, wasn't always the greatest thing.

Yes, she would do Castiel in a heartbeat if she could. But on the other hand, she had slept with strippers in the past and well... she shouldn’t want to repeat the experience after the disaster that had been. It wasn't her damn fault she hadn't got laid in about a year. That was really sad, and also made her really horny, which, if she was being honest, was the reason she had returned to the Heaven and Hell. Sam had been the first to catch her eye because damn, the man was huge, and she didn't exactly mind if a guy could pick her up and throw her against a wall easily.

Casiel, however... that was an entirely different thing. He had a boy next door look that usually bored her, that was true. But at the same time, there was a strange naïvety to him, something precious and pure too fragile for this mortal, decadent world. Even his name was angelic. It was the eyes, she decided. Eyes so blue she could drown in them. They were the color of... the color of...

Ugh, dammit, she was supposed to know what color they were. It wasn't sapphire blue, that blue was too deep and too strong. They also weren't light blue like the sky on a clear day, that was far too weak. And they had this brightness about them that made them hard to describe, like...

The bell above the door rang and she realized that she had been fantasizing about some guy's eyes for about twenty minutes. Well, that wasn't the most pathetic thing she'd ever done, but it definitely deserved a place on the list.

After calling Tom over so he could show the client their designs, she discreetly opened her credit card's summary on the computer. She still had enough limit to pay for a couple more drinks at the Heaven and Hell.

 

* * *

 

The ambient at the club when Castiel arrived on Wednesday was a little tense. Usually, there were laughter and jokes as the guys told each other what they'd done during the weekend (which, in their case, meant Monday and Tuesday), joked around and started gathering ideas to propose to Balthazar about the group routine they were preparing for Friday. But that day, as Castiel settled his bag in the dressing room, he noticed a strange silence around. Maybe he'd gone there too early?

He passed by Balthazar's office on the way to the stage. The door was closed, and he could hear loud voices and Balthazar's characteristic coughing on the other side, but he couldn't make out any of the words. However, he knew spying was a wonderful way to ensure he would be fired from this other job as well, so he just headed for the stage.

Nobody was rehearsing. Usually one of the guys was by the pole practicing his moves, while Benny and Ash tested the sound and the lights, but today they were all sitting around one chair in absolute silence. Even Ash, who was usually very calm about basically everything, seemed a little off-put.

"What's going on?" Castiel frowned.

“Nothing,” Benny replied. “As I have told them already, nothing’s going on and nothing is wrong and y’all need to calm down.”

It sounded like an order, so that didn’t exactly reassure Castiel.

“Who’s in Balthazar’s office?” he asked.

“Why do you assume this is about that?” Benny lashed out, and that completely convinced Castiel that the general foul mood was completely about that.

“Because he can put two and two together, Benny, that’s why,” Dean snapped. With a sigh, he moved a little so Castiel could have a place by his side. “It’s some asshole called Crowley, okay? He used to run the club with Balthazar back in the day.”

“Oh, they go way far back than that,” Ash added. “Balthazar told me they had a pub together in London. They’re BFFs… well, they used to be.”

“We had just started working here when they fell apart,” Sam told Castiel. “Crowley wanted the dancers to do, uh… less than legal things.”

“He was trying to turn this place into an out and out brothel,” Benny groaned. Apparently, there was no point in pretending that nothing was wrong now that everyone had opened their mouths. “And other awful things. Don’t ask me what they were, I don’t know them. Point is, he was an ass, so Balthazar kicked him out.”

“Why is he here now?”

Nobody knew, or if they did, they didn’t have time to tell him: the door to the stage burst opened and a short man dressed in a black stripped suit stormed out.

“Well, Balt, dear,” he said, with an accent a little heavier than Balthazar’s. “If that is how you really feel like, then I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do to change your mind.”

Balthazar looked extremely annoyed, with his arm crossed over his chest and the furrow between his eyes, but he still smiled wide at his old friend.

“Exactly,” he said. “Have a good one, Fergus. Give my rewards to Rowena.”

Fergus Crowley strutted towards the door and grabbed his coat from where he had left it at the top of the counter. He turned to glare at Balthazar with his little beady-eyes for a second.

“Next time you call me with a business proposal, make sure you don’t waste my time. I’m a busy man.”

And with that, he left the club, leaving behind a silence so heavy Castiel felt it weighing down on his shoulders. The dialogue had been cordial, but even a deaf person could have told how tense th aire between the men was. Nobody said a word, but he knew they were all wondering the same thing: what kind of business proposal was he talking about? And why would Balthazar make one at all? And as selfish as it sounded, what did it mean for their jobs?

Balthazar took out a cigarette from his box and turned it on while muttering under his breath:

“Greedy little Scottish maggot…”

The lighter stopped just inches away from the tip of the cigarette.

“What are you staring at?” he asked. All his employees stood up and started running around even before he added: “Chop, chop! We got a show tonight!”


	5. Chapter 5

Meg let a few days go by, but Thursday seemed to be a good night to visit the club. There were only a handful of clients and none of that heavy, shriek-filled ambient that usually characterized the moment right before the show started. She decided to sit on one of the tables near the stage for a change, and for the lack of anything better to do, she took out her sketchbook. She still wasn’t quite convinced the wings she had drawn on Castiel’s back had the right angle to them, and of course she needed to add more details before she started painting it on the canvass…

But she wasn’t focusing on that, exactly. She kept stealing glances at the stage, even though she knew the show wouldn’t begin for another half hour. She didn’t even know why she’d gone there so early. Maybe she should have waited for another hour, when there would more people (although maybe not that many) and her presence would go unnoticed. But if she missed Castiel’s dance, then…

Oh, God, she had a problem. A big, blue-eyed problem, and she still couldn’t exactly figure out what shade of blue it was. It was merely an aesthetic interest, she told herself as she sipped from her cup and Officer Naughty walked onto the stage. She just liked ogling at pretty guys, and Castiel was beyond pretty, that was for sure.

There was a close applause when the officer finished and some of the women got up to tip him. Meg saw several approaching the bar, and she deduced tonight’s earnings would be made mostly through private dances. She tapped her finger on the table, thinking long and hard about what she wanted to do. Would it be too obvious or too stalker-y? They had seen each other a grand total of three times, and it had all been in professional settings. More or less. Maybe if she could just take another look at those back muscles, she could take it out of her system and forget about it. Yes, that sounded completely reasonable.

Or maybe she was losing her mind over a stripper again. Oh, Tom would be so damn disappointed.

She still waited to more dances. The guys didn't look as energetic as they usually did for some reason. . Most of the routines she had seen before, like they reserved the novelties and the really charged ones for Friday. It wasn't bad, per se, it was still entertaining to watch and there were a few funny moments, like when Inias threw his tie at the audience and a couple of women fought over it and almost stumbled on a table. But it was like they weren't putting their all into it like other nights.

Maybe it was just because it was a random ass Wednesday. Or maybe her own doubting over her reasons to be there was coloring her perception.

And maybe Castiel wasn't there at all. Maybe, since he was knew and all, he only worked on Fridays or...

"And now, our own Pastor Jim comes to deliver you from sin, ladies," Ash, the DJ, announced. "Get on your knees to welcome him, please!"

Castiel was also doing a rehashed routine, if the first notes of _Take Me To Church_ were anything to go by. He unbuttoned his cassock very slowly, while swaying his hips. His leg wrapping around the pole sent a shiver down Meg’s spine, and when he climbed up, the cassock fell down flawlessly, revealing a pair of tight, black briefs. There were whistles and someone shouted they would see him later for a confession.

Not if Meg had anything to say about it, but she was still in no hurry to get up and ask for a private dance. Mainly, because Castiel was being especially mesmerizing, even more so than the first time she’d seen him. His movements were acrobatic, thoughtful. He never had an am or a leg out of place, he was always in perfect synch with the changing rhythms of the song. His muscles tensed and relaxed under the dim, silver lights, the shadows sliding on his skin as artfully as he slid up and down the pole. It was no wonder Meg thought of aerial, ethereal beings watching him dance.

But there was something different that night with him too. Last time he had been amazing as well, but now... his movements were smoother, his steps more confident. And there was a little smile curving his lips, instead of the intense frown of concentration he'd had the last time.

He was enjoying himself, Meg decided. That was the difference. Last time he had been fine, but there had been a hesitance that was missing now, a nervousness and a... Meg doubted if she should call it "try-harder-y", but that was exactly it. He had been trying too hard to be perfect, hoping too much the audience would appreciate his effort. Now he was dancing without paying too much mind to what others would think, performing for the sake of doing it well.

Both times, it had been obvious that he loved to dance. This time, it also became obvious that it was what he was _supposed_ to be doing.

And just like that, Meg admitted to herself that she was screwed. Her interest in Castiel was certainly not merely aesthetic.

She had to stand in line behind half a dozen of women after his act was over. When she reached the counter, Rudy informed her that her private dance would have to wait.

"You're the fourth to ask for a private with him," he informed her. "Rookie's on fire tonight."

Meg wanted to correct him. Castel wasn't on fire. He was walking on air, far above any of them.

 

* * *

 

Castiel gave himself five minutes before going into the next VIP room. The last woman had left the room annoyed and tipped him poorly. Castiel didn't blame her. Well, he did blame her. She had tried to grab his cock, which was against the club's rule and he knew Benny had told her about it before letting her in the room. She knew that it was wrong and she had gone for it anyway.

But he blamed himself because he had completely lost his rhythm afterwards. The other guys had warned him about the clients that got a little handsy, and he should have been prepared to deal with it, but instead he had stumbled clumsily away and laughed nervously and reminded her she wasn't allowed to touch him.

Consequence: he got a miserable ten dollars and the unsettling feeling that he wasn't ready to deal with what the job entailed after all. Benny found him a little later in the bathroom, at the edge of falling apart. He must have realized, because he offered:

"You know, if you're not up for it, I can excuse you to the client and tell some of the other guys to cover for ya."

And that's when Castiel remembered he was burning through his savings and he hadn't found a day job yet.

"No," he said, standing up and straightening his back. "I'll do it. Just... yes, I'll do it."

Benny shot him a look that clearly asked: _'Are you sure?_ ', but Castiel just nodded and he prepared himself mentally to brave through it. How bad could it be, really?

Well, he was tired and a little shaken, definitely not in the mood for dancing anymore. So it could be bad, really bad, especially if it was another lady like the previous one. But it was the last one, he told himself, and then he could go home, take a shower and sleep for twelve hours straight.

The moment he walked into the VIP room, however, he was ever so glad he decided not to let someone else take it.

Meg was sitting in the chair in the middle of the room with her legs crossed. Her sketchbook rested on her lap, and she was tapping against it with a pencil until she heard Castiel come in. She lifted her head and smirked at him the way he’d come to know.

“Well, hello, Clarence,” she said. “Nice to see you again.”

Castiel closed the door behind him, trying to bite back his smile.

“Nice to see you too,” he replied. “How you’ve been?”

“Lacking inspiration,” she said, showing him the sketchbook. “So if you could please…?”

“Are you ever going to actually let me dance for you?” he asked, both jokingly and genuinely interested as he turned his back and removed his shirt.

“Maybe I’ll be in the mood one of these days,” she answered. “I’ll surprise you.”

Castiel only chuckled in response.

For a couple of seconds, all that was heard in the room was the sound of fumbling papers and the scratch of the pencils over it. Castiel breathed in deeply and allowed his tired muscles and his messy mind to relax. It had been a long day, and he was actually glad to find something positive after all: Meg hadn’t been freaked out by his random dropping at her workplace.

She seemed to be thinking about that visit as well, because she asked:

“So have you talked to your boss about getting your tat?”

“Uh, it hasn’t come up,” Castiel said. “He’s been… otherwise occupied.”

“Busy,” Meg corrected him, with a giggle. “I think you mean busy.”

“Yes, busy,” he muttered, and thankfully, Meg couldn’t see him blushing. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” she said. “I like the way you speak. It adds to your mystique.”

“My… what now?” he asked, looking over shoulder to check if she was serious.

“Hold still, please,” she said, and he returned to his position, a little embarrassed. “Your mystique,” she repeated. “You know, your aura of mystery. What’s a boy like you doing in a place like this, one has to wonder.”

“Well, that’s a long story,” Castiel sighed. He didn’t consider he had a mystique at all, but maybe that wasn’t a bad thing. Maybe that was the thing that would make him stick out like Balthazar said he should, maybe he could ask Meg if she’d liked his dance and what she’d liked about it…

“I would love to hear it some time,” she commented. “If you have the time.”

Castiel felt the sting of her eyes in the back of his head and it was like every filter between his brain and his tongue vanished. He didn’t stop to consider that maybe she was saying that to be kind, and that getting personal with a client was a bad idea he’d been warned against.

“Well, this is my last private session,” he said. “If you want to, we could go somewhere to… talk.”

The scratching of the pencil stopped. Castiel was about to apologize, tell her that of course she didn’t have to, that it was just a stupid idea he’d had because he was exhausted and stressed lately and…

“I’d like that.”

The sigh of relief he let out must have been noticeable, because she asked him to go back to his position again.

 

* * *

 

Meg probably shouldn’t have had that third cocktail, but she wasn’t too far gone that she didn’t know what she was doing. Castiel had asked her for some time to pick his stuff up and say goodbye to his coworkers before meeting up with her, so she stood on the empty street and waited, thinking about her life and her choices.

Honestly, there hadn’t been an explicit invitation to hook up, so she had no reason to feel so damn nervous about this. It was stupid. Yes, there had been some flirting and some chemistry going on, but that didn’t mean anything, it didn’t have to mean anything. And even if they did end up hooking up, what was the problem with that? They were adults. Sex happened. There were condoms in the bathroom’s cabinet. It was not a big deal.

Goddammit, what was wrong with her? She was usually better at the whole convincing herself nothing bad could come out of her impulsive behavior.

So of course, she spent several minutes thinking about everything that could go wrong. It could be bad. Bad in a way that made them both gag in disgust at the very sight of each other, which would be a shame, because she did enjoy going to the club and having their little talks while she drew him. On the other hand, that was all they had shared in the… what, less than a week since they’d first talked? Well, she’d taken guy home in less time than that, but what if when they really got into it they discovered it wasn’t all they imagined it to be? There was nothing wrong with a one-night stand, but it had been a while and Meg didn’t think…

Castiel came out of the club, his dark hair in complete disarray and wearing a leather jacket that looked too thin for the middle of January. All Meg’s thoughts came to a halt almost immediately. Maybe this would be a good thing for her after all. Jumping back on the horse and all that jazz. Maybe she needed to stop overthinking like, yesterday. Castiel smiled at her, and yes, that was something that could put any second-guessing to rest.

“Hello, again,” he greeted her.

“Hi,” Meg replied. She latched her arm around his, the way she’d seen couples do in old timey movies.

“So, where are we going?”

“I thought I would take you somewhere private,” Meg said, hoping to strike the right amount of flirty in her tone of voice. “Where we can drink and talk until the sun comes out.”

“That sounds great,” Castiel replied, and Meg had the disturbing impression he wasn’t even trying. He really was this charming naturally. “Where is that?”

The walk to her home usually took around twenty minutes, but the night wasn’t particularly cold and they weren’t in a rush. The air was thin with presages of storm, the sky was covered in dark grey clouds and there wasn’t a single star in sight. There had definitely been prettier, more colorful nights to take a stroll on the backstreets of her neighborhood. But with the warmth of Castiel’s hand over hers and the joy in his chuckle every time she told a joke, she definitely felt like that was the most wonderful time she’d had in a while.

“Tom absolutely refused, because getting your face tattooed is stupid and we don’t do it on principle,” Meg told him, while Castiel laughed uncontrollably. “And the guy was furious, I really thought he was going to deck him right there.”

“I never thought being a tattoo artist was so dangerous.”

“Well, we’ve got some bikers coming in,” Meg shrugged. “And some bikers wannabes. All the time.”

She opened the door to the store and closed it before the cold wind could slide through. The reception looked strange in the darkness, and Castiel almost stumbled on the coffee table, which provoked them both an attack of hilarity. It was like they were already drunk, and maybe Meg was, a little bit.

“Come on,” she said, guiding him upstairs. “Stay quiet, though. I don’t want to wake my brother.”

The moment they stepped on the living room, Meg wondered if she had made a mistake. The place was a mess, with empty beer cans and the abandoned box of the pizza they’d had the night before cluttering the carpet. The couch wasn’t much better: she had spread her college books and notebooks all over it, and there was an unfinished canvass on the corner she had forgotten to cover. All in all, it couldn’t have looked less welcoming, but Castiel didn’t paid attention to any of it: he went straight for the mural behind the TV wall.

“That’s…” he muttered. “Did you do that?”

Meg scratched her neck nervously. As it happened with everything she painted, she was convinced it wasn’t her best job. She’d just seen the stark white walls when they’d first acquired the place and figured it’d be too depressing to see them every day, so she’d had at them with her brushes and the leftover painting from the studio the first free weekend they got. She hadn’t exactly plan much of what she was doing, she’d just drawn flower after flower in impossible colors, almost like she was coloring some sort of strange mandala, and it had ended up as an explosion of lots of green, red, blue, yellow (golden yellow, not rubber duck yellow) and violet that had no reason nor rhyme.

She’d made a mention or two about painting it over and starting again, with a little bit more of a plan this time. She’d never come around to do it. Tom never reminded her of it, just like he never reminded her to take down the sunset painting behind the reception desk.

“Yeah,” she scratched her neck and tried to make it seem like it was no big deal while she walked around the aisle that separated the kitchen area from the living room area, which, if it wasn’t for it, would just have been one big area. “So do want beer or something stronger? I know where Tom hides his Bourbon.”

“Just beer, please.”

 _Please_. He had manners and everything. Maybe beer was a good idea, because Meg was sure she had drunk too much not to giggle like an idiot for that.

She took her sweet time finding the cans inside the fridge, only because she was trying to come up with some smart, probably self-deprecating comment about the mural, but when she turned around, her words died in her throat. He was now standing against the mural, his nose practically grazing the wall, and tracing the outline of a vine and its leaves with his fingers.

She tiptoed towards him and leaned a little to catch a glimpse of his face. There were two deep creases between his eyebrows, like he was deeply concentrated into what he was doing, like he needed to absorb and understand every bump and relief on the painting. He was so into it; it took him an entire minute to realize Meg was standing right by him, beers in hand.

“I’m sorry,” he said, avoiding her gaze, as if he had been caught doing something embarrassing. “I just… I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Meg said. She actually didn’t know how to feel. Never in her life had anyone looked at her work like that. “Uh… so you like it?” she asked, hoping it didn’t sound like she was fishing for a compliment.

“It’s beautiful.”

There was intensity in his voice, like he was affirming something that was a universal truth, and anyone who tried to deny it was a fool or a liar. Meg couldn’t even do her usual routine of pretending she didn’t like it and affirming she could do much better. So instead, she smirked to present a front of confidence and handed Castiel his beer.

“I don’t like empty spaces,” she said. She needed to justify the existence of the mural. Not because she thought Castiel would judge her for ruining a perfectly good white wall, but because she had the impression he would understand why she’d one it. “They make me sad. Like they are waiting for someone to fill them, and when it doesn’t happen, it’s a sort of small tragedy that nobody even notices.”

Castiel nodded like that was something really deep instead of a drunken rambling.

“So did you paint something on your ceiling too?” he asked. Meg startled. “I just thought… if you don’t like empty spaces, you wouldn’t like to fall asleep while staring at one,” he explained. “So of course you’d put something beautiful to look at there.”

Meg remained quiet for a second or two, and that unnerved Castiel, because he started apologizing again.

“I did paint my ceiling,” she interrupted him.

She didn’t know if Castiel had honestly understood what she meant or the way she thought, or if she just had that impression because of the late hour and the alcohol. In any case, they had brought up her night sky, and now she was compelled to show it to him.

Or maybe it was just an excuse to get him into her bedroom. Either way, Castiel didn’t protest when she grabbed his hand and gently led him to her door.

She didn’t hit the switch on the wall. Instead, she left Castiel standing awkwardly right in front of the bed and went for her night lamp. That was the only appropriate way to really appreciate her work.

Castiel’s jaw hanged opened the minute the golden light bathed the room. Meg had covered every inch of her ceiling in dark blue (because those idiots who thought nights were black knew absolutely nothing), and then she had decorated it with galaxies, stardust and planets. It was a continuous work in progress, because sometimes she decided she was bored with this or that detail, so she would scratch it and repaint it. The result was that the blue wasn’t uniform everywhere and that it was starting to leak down the walls. The latest addition was a growing moon behind her bed’s head, between her two windows.

She let him have a few seconds to take it all in before she shrugged.

“It’s not too bad…”

“You’re amazing,” he interrupted her, and again, it was just like he was stating a matter of fact. “Meg, this is… you’re so amazing,” he repeated, like there was simply no other way to describe it.

Meg scoffed and tried to laugh it off. Suddenly, she wondered if it had been a good idea to show him that. She felt incredibly awkward, more awkward than if she had simply undressed in front of him. This was a bit like that, but a lot different too.

“Well, come on,” she said, laying down in her bed and patting the empty left side. “Don’t let me here in this empty space.”

Castiel’s smile froze a little.

“Are you sure…?”

Meg didn’t even bother answering. Instead, she cracked her beer open and waited patiently for him to join her. Finally, when he’d apparently decided that wasn’t a trap or a strange invitation of some sort, he sat by Meg’s side in an awkward position where he was half reclining and one of his legs still hanged out of the bed. Meg figured he was trying to give her space, and she wondered how many more times Castiel was going to throw her expectations of him to the ground and then trample all over them. Any other guy would have already tried to cope a feel after been so explicitly invited into her bed.

“So, are you going to tell me that long story now?” she asked.

Castiel nervously took a swig of his can.

“It’s not actually that long,” he confessed. “I don’t know why I said that. I came here to try for the M. O. L. Academy… have you heard of it?”

“Yeah… it might have come up sometime,” Meg said. The sarcasm in her voice wasn’t subtle.

The Men of Letters Academy was a superior institute that granted education and scholarships to all sort of post-graduated artists so they could pursue their ambitions, put up plays, do art exhibits, publish their books. They were like modern patrons of arts. Many of her college classmates sometimes sighed and wished they were good enough to even dare to apply for it. They must have had a dancing section too, because Castiel added:

“I failed the test, but I didn’t want to go home with my tail between my legs. So I decided to stay and try again next year… this year. The next auditions are this September.”

“Well, don’t you aim high, my little fallen angel?” Meg joked. Castiel laughed awkwardly and took another gulp of beer.

“I haven’t been accused of that before,” he commented. “I have been told I sell myself short and underuse my talents.”

“Why, because you strip?” Meg frowned. “That’s ridiculous. There’s nothing wrong with stripping; it’s a job. And you’re fantastic at it, if I may add.”

Castiel’s cheeks became the prettiest shade of pink, and he finally dared to put the other leg up in the bed.

“You really think so?”

“Yes,” Meg replied. The words she wanted to say to him were all scrambled in her head, but she still tried: “When you dance, it’s like… it’s like you’re not there at all. Like you’re somewhere else, where nothing can touch you.”

“I feel like that when I dance,” he confessed. “The world disappears and it’s just me and the music… I don’t know if that makes sense.”

Half a beer and he was hammered. Meg inched a little closer to him.

“It makes all the sense in the world.”

Castiel turned to look at her, and he might have said something, but she didn’t register it. She was too busy having an epiphany about the color of his eyes.

They were just a shade darker than aquamarine, but that wasn’t it. It was like sinking into a very clear ocean and looking up to see the rays of sun filtering through the moving water.

And Meg wouldn’t mind drowning in them.


	6. Chapter 6

Meg looked very peaceful in her sleep. Her bleached blonde hair was spread on the pillow, and every time she breathed, the stars she had tattooed on her cleavage rose and fell again. Her perfume filled the air. It was a combination of something citric, lemon, maybe, and her own salty sweat. It was incredibly enticing, but Castiel stayed very still, almost not daring to breathe for fear of waking her. They were on different sides of the bed, not even touching each other. They hadn’t touched the night before either, not even for a kiss goodnight. They had drunk beer and talked for what felt like hours, and then they’d both fallen asleep on top of the covers at some point.

And now the sun was filtering in through the window’s pane and Meg’s face was inches away from his. It was a strange thing, to see her so quiet, so calm. He’d come to think of Meg as a sort of perpetual movement machine, always laughing, always talking, always doing something with her fingers and her hands. The murals in the living room and her bedroom spoke of someone who refused to just stay in one place without leaving a mark on it, without doing something to change it for the better.

It was strange that he thought that. It hadn’t even been two weeks since he’d met first met her, but it felt like Meg had been in his life a lot longer. He didn’t want to say it had been love at first sight or anything as improbable as that. But last night, while they were talking, he felt like he had known Meg forever. Like he wasn’t telling her those things for the first time, but catching up with an old friend he hadn’t seen in a long time, a friend that could scare all his worries and insecurities away.

And maybe it was foolish of him to think that something between them was possible. Scratch that, it was incredible foolish of him to think being with Meg, being with anyone, at that stage of his life was foolish. But he was ever so glad she had invited him to come over.

What was that thing his father used to say? “You don’t have to write the entire story in one day”. Castiel was pretty sure that was an excuse for his chronic procrastination and the fact he pretty much always ended up writing his draft in the middle of an unhealthy caffeine binge confirmed he never practiced what he preached. But maybe it applied here. Maybe his and Meg’s story was one that wasn’t meant to be rushed.

His cellphone vibrated somewhere on the floor, and although the last thing he wanted to do was stop looking at Meg’s face and get up from that comfortable spot, he couldn’t avoid he real world forever. When he looked at his cellphone, realized with a jolt that it was past eleven and he had several messages from Dean asking him if he was going to show up or what.

Meg didn’t wake up when he fished his shoes from under the bed, or when he tiptoed towards the door. He stopped for a second next to the bed to look at her once more. Her cheek was turned to him, and he felt the almost irresistible impulse to lean over and kiss her. But that would have been infinitely disrespectful, so he simply put on his jacket and tiptoed out of the room. He could shower at the club, where there was hot water and…

“Good morning, Castiel.”

Castiel stopped in his tracks. Meg’s brother, Tom, was standing behind the counter with a steaming mug between his colorful fingers, and watching him like a hawk who’d just caught a glimpse of an injured rabbit. For some reason, he had the impression he had been there for a long time. Just waiting.

“Uh… yeah… hi,” he answered, fidgeting with the edge of his jacket.

“Not staying for breakfast?” Tom asked, crooking an eyebrow in a gesture that was almost identical to Meg.

“No… I… have work,” he stuttered, cringing.

“Ah, I see,” Tom said, and took a long sip of his mug, not taking his eyes off Castiel for a second.

He was painfully aware how this looked like. Tom probably thought he had slept with his sister and now he was trying to skip out on her and never see her again. He thought about telling him he had nothing but best intentions towards Meg, but he wasn’t sure that would make the situation any better.

“Would you like to leave a message for Meg?” Tom offered, with a smile that was more like a snarl.

“Yes, a message,” Castiel said, relieved. Maybe Tom would let him out of the house alive if he did. “Uh…”

“There’s pen and paper by the phone,” Tom indicated, and in three long steps, he was right behind Castiel while he scribbled down a goodbye note for Meg. “Don’t forget to add your number.”

Castiel did it, not because Tom would probably break the mug on his head if he refused, but because he felt like an idiot for not offering it to her before.

“And your address, too.”

“Why?” Castiel frowned.

“In case I need to track you down,” Tom replied, with the widest smile. “I’m sure Meg told you we have a lot of bikers as clients.”

“She did mention something about it…”

“Good,” Tom’s grin widened. “So you’ve been warned.”

And he calmly sipped from his mug again. Castiel decided that was a good time to bolt the hell out of there.

“Right. I have to go.”

“Don’t let me stop you,” Tom said. “See you soon.”

Castiel had the impression he was almost daring him to never come back and see how that worked out for him. As he stepped into the street, he stopped to look over his shoulder to Meg’s window again, and smiled. Tom had nothing to fear. He definitely would be seeing Meg again.

 

* * *

 

Despite being almost two hours late to the group rehearsal, nobody paid much attention to Castiel when he walked in. There seemed to be some sort of commotion around Benny, near the counter. He had a flashback to last Wednesday, and wondered if Crowley was there again. But he hadn’t seen anyone in Balthazar’s office, so maybe it didn’t have to do with that?

“Are you sure that’s what he told you?”

“For the fifth time, yes,” Benny replied. He sounded irritated, like he had the evening when Crowley had been there. “That’s what he said in his text.”

“And now he’s not answering,” Dean groaned. “Great, that’s just peachy.”

“What’s going on?” Castiel asked. And why did he seem to always be the last to find out?

“Cas, thank God,” Rudy exclaimed when he saw him. “We’re having a bit of a crisis. But it’s nothing we can’t handle, right? Especially now that you’re here…”

He sounded too nervous and he was touching his beard too much for it to be “just a bit of a crisis”. He looked around, to the general worried faces, looking for an explanation.

“Inias quitted,” Sam said, finally. “We’re only going to be five dancers tonight.”

“But… it’s Friday night,” Castiel said. The fact Inias had deflected didn’t bother him so much as the fact he did it precisely on the busiest night of the week.

“Doesn’t seem to matter to him,” Benny groaned. “Apparently he got an offer from another club and he had to start tonight or never.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Castiel said. That other club, whoever was behind it, was clearly trying to sabotage them. “Where’s Balthazar?”

“He’s…” Ash started, but Benny interrupted him.

“He wasn’t feeling okay,” he said. “So he ain’t coming. We’re going to have to deal with this ourselves.”

He hadn’t even finished speaking when the club’s door bust open and in strutted Balthazar, ithhis jacket over his shudder like it wasn’t a freezing January evening outside.

“Here I am, boys,” he announced. “Never fear. I got this.”

Benny immediately narrowed his eyes at Ash.

“Yeah, I called him,” Ash confessed. “I panicked. It’s an emergency.”

Benny huffed, as if he was indicating he would deal with Ash for that later and turned to his boss.

“Balt, you should be resting…”

“I am perfectly fine,” Balthazar replied. “Put on the _Fire_ remix, Ash, and darlings, please be so kind to show Castiel the firefighters routine. That never fails.”

“We still need another dancer,” Benny pointed out.

“I already took care of that,” Balthazar said, calmly. “He should be here at any moment now.”

Any moment turned out to be forty-five minutes later, but Castiel didn’t even realize, too busy learning the steps to the routine. It wasn’t a difficult one, just a lot of shaking hips and taking off clothes, not many props involved at all. He understood why Balthazar had chosen it for a night like that. Rudy brought them some water when they made a pause, and only then he realized Benny was going out of his mind, tapping his feet on the floor and whispering something on Balthazar’s ear. Meanwhile, Balthazar was smoking as usual and making small dismissive gestures at him. He was keeping himself together quite well, but Castiel had the impression he wasn’t his usual energetic self.

“Is he alright?” he wanted to know.

“Yeah, he’s fine,” Rudy replied. “He’s probably a little stressed out, but you know, he doesn’t let things get to him.”

Castiel was tempted to ask if Rudy as perhaps thinking about himself, because they were still one man short and the club’s opening hour was ticking closer. He was just about to mention that when the backstage door opened and a blonde man with a jacket with a fur hood and sun glasses walked in.

“Oh, no,” he heard Gadreel muttering, while Sam groaned audibly.

The blonde man didn’t pay attention to either of them. He just took a couple of strides towards Balthazar while taking his sunglasses off in one fluid gesture, and only then Castiel recognized him: he was Lucifer, the guy of the Fifty Shades shtick that had sent Meg running for the hills. And judging by his co-workers expressions, they weren’t exactly fond of him either.

However, Balthazar stood up to receive him.

“Luc, darling, I am so glad you could make it,” he said.

“Always happy to do a favor for a friend,” Lucifer (whose real name apparently was Luc) replied, taking off his jacket and tossing it over the bar along with his sunglasses. “But as I told you, I have to go back to the theater early, so…”

“Of course, your act will be first in line,” Balthazar promised. “And I will pay you the plus we agreed on right before you leave.”

That seemed to satisfy Lucifer, because he was grinning when he climbed on the stage with them.

“Hello, boys,” he greeted them.

Dean huffed, Michael rolled his eyes, Gadreel looked away like he refused to even acknowledge his presence and Sam bore his teeth in attempted smile and a venomous:

“Hi.”

“You must be new,” Lucifer turned to Castiel, not even fazed by the open hostility. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too,” Castiel accepted the hand he was offered with a smile. “I’m Castiel.”

“Cas, can I ask you something?” Lucifer said, and before Castiel could agree, he added: “Could you go stand over there, behind Michael? I’m sorry, I’m just used to dancing in this spot.”

“Well, I do believe a dancer should be able to adapt to unforeseen circumstances,” Castiel said. “But if it means so much to you, of course I have no problem with it.”

He didn’t think there was anything else to add, so he stepped back to stand right besides Sam and Dean.

“What?” he asked, because both brothers were staring at her.

“Nothing,” Sam said, smiling, while Dean seemed to be doing his best to hold in the laughter.

Balthazar didn’t notice or didn’t particularly care about the little drama going on with his dancers.

“Very well,” he said, clapping his hands. “Ash, from the top.”

What followed was an hour and a half of very intense rehearsing, with Balthazar standing right by the stage to shout words of encouragement and, more often than not, corrections and reasons why they were doing everything wrong; all done in his very personal way, of course, with heavy tossing of sarcastic pet names. Castiel wondered why he never noticed before he had a different one for each of them.

"Love, please, keep a hold of that arm, if you don't mind," he told Gadreel. "You're going to take out poor Michael's out. Sweetie, you're making that step to fast. Slow down, there's no need to hurry. Let the clients take a good look at you. You're doing very well, darling, but you're being a bit overdramatic with that pose. There's no need for that; this isn't Broadway."

Castiel was confused for a second before he realized Balthazar was taking to Lucifer.

"Oh, yes, that's clear enough," Lucifer replied. Michael unabashedly rolled his eyes at him and Sam sighed heavily.

"I'm sorry, is there something in particular you mean by that, darling?" Balthazar asked, crooking an eyebrow.

Lucifer showed him a radiant smile.

"Nothing," he lied. "I'm just thinking we've done this routine enough times there's no need to go over it so many times. Besides, those of us who need it won't have any time to prepare their solo acts if we spend all afternoon in this."

Balthazar's smile was a little tense, or maybe it looked like that because he was holding back a coughing fit.

“I suppose you’re right, darling…”

“Wonderful,” Lucifer said and climbed down the stage like he hadn’t noticed the “but” coming up in Balthazar’s response. “Then I’m going to take a shower and get ready for tonight.”

And with that, he strutted away towards the dressing rooms.

“He’s going to use up all the hot water,” Gadreel muttered, like it was something inevitable that he had seen happen a million times.

“Kids,” Balthazar muttered, as he took out his cigarette pack from his pocket. “Please, behave.”

“Should you be doing that?” Benny asked, but Balthazar had already lit it up.

“Take five,” he told the dancers before sitting by the bar and producing an ashtray seemingly out of nowhere. Benny immediately went to sit by his side, muttering something Balthazar clearly didn’t care to answer. Ash came out of the DJ’s booth and helped Rudy pass more bottles of water.

“What’s Luc’s problem?” Castiel asked, because he thought calling him “Lucifer” out loud might have been a little rude.

“He’s an asshole,” Dean said, bluntly as they sat down on the edge of the stage, his bow legs dangling over the floor. “I don’t think he considers it a problem, though, I think he enjoys every second of it.”

“He thinks he’s too good to be here,” Sam added, with a seriousness Castiel had never seen him adopt before now. “Just ‘cause now he has a day job at this Broadway production, he thinks he’s a better dancer than the rest of us.”

“Yeah, and the play is bad,” Ash added.

“Have you seen it?”

“No, I just assume it’s bad,” the DJ shrugged. “Because he’s in it, you know.”

The dancers all stopped to stare at him for a second, and then they started cracking up. Dean patted Ash in the back, who seemed particularly proud of his joke, as Gadreel and Michael, who were always so serious about everything, suffocated their chuckles on the back of their hands. The tense ambient that had descended on them with Luc’s arrival vanished into thin air.

“Well, I’m glad you’re all in such a giddy mood,” Balthazar commented, sauntering towards the stage. “Hope that means you’re all ready to dance.”

“You know it, boss,” Dean said, standing up. “Let’s hit the shower and steal the hot water from that fucking ass.”

Sam, Gadreel and Michael all seemed to agree with that plan. Castiel stayed behind and jumped down to catch up with Balthazar.

“Hey… uh, are you okay?”

“Of course I am, darling,” Balthazar replied with a nonchalant gesture. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Castiel was tempted to point out that he looked pale and had dark circles underneath his eyes, like he hadn’t slept well. On top of it, Benny was still watching him like a hawk from the counter, like he was half-expecting that Balthazar would faint at any moment and he would have to catch him. Also, he wasn’t chain smoking. It was almost surreal to see him without a cigarette between his fingers and a halo of smoke around his head.

“Anything you wanted to talk about, Cas?” Balthazar asked, putting a halt to Castiel’s speculations.

“Yes,” Castiel remembered the reason he had stopped him. “I’ve been thinking about what you said, my act and my dancing. And I think I have an idea on how to make it more… interesting.”

“Oh?” Balthazar crooked an eyebrow. “Very well, then. Come to my office and let’s hear it.”

It took Castiel only a few minutes to explain it, but Balthazar remained quiet afterward for so long that he started to think he was somehow displeased with the idea.

“If you don’t think I should do it…”

“That’s not it, Castiel,” Balthazar said. He still took some seconds to explain what the problem was then. He took out his cigarette pack and toyed with it, like he was considering taking another one, but ultimately didn’t. “It’s your body and you’re certainly welcome to do whatever you please with it. But what you’re suggesting is pretty radical. Have you thought this through?”

No, he hadn’t, but a part of his mind had been reflecting on it since he had seen Meg’s drawing of the angel, the first night they met. Yes, him wanting to get a tattoo had been an excuse to go see her at first, but, the night before, when he’d seen what she’d done with the walls in her home, the obvious love and dedication she had poured into them, he couldn’t help but to think it was a luxury for her clients to have her use their skin as a canvass.

So yes, getting a massive, visible tattoo was a big decision and he should probably dedicate more thought to it and listen to other’s advice. But he was certain about one thing: if he decided to go through with it, it’d have to be Meg who did it. Whatever was going on with them (and he believed there was _something_ going on), he wanted to keep a bit of her art with him forever.

On the other hand, depending on the angle and the size, a tattoo like that would probably disqualify him for certain jobs, but he was fine with that. He wanted to dance. He didn’t want to go back to college or try and find somewhere to work at that his mother considered respectable. It would be a declaration, an affirmation of the path he had chosen and his determination to not back down from it.

All those things had gone through his mind, but that wasn’t what he told Balthazar.

“You mentioned something the other day,” he reminded him. “About me having a fallen angel aura about me. The club is called Heaven and Hell. You even have another dancer named Lucifer. So… why not exploit that?”

Balthazar stopped playing with the unlit cigarette and tilted his head. That had obviously caught his attention. He searched for a pen among the mess that was his desk and grabbed a random piece of paper without even looking to see what it was.

“I’m listening,” he said, tapping the pen on the white space.

By the time they finished talking and planning while Balthazar jotted down Castiel’s suggestions and his own ideas, it was almost opening time.

“This is actually… yes, we can do something with this,” Balthazar said. For the first time in what seemed like ages, his grey eyes were glistening with enthusiasm. “Cas, darling, you’re heaven sent. No pun intended,” he added with a grin. “Okay, go and get ready now and please tell Benny to come here.”

Castiel had been so caught up with the planning that he had, for a moment, entirely forgotten about what had started the conversation. He remembered just before he was about to cross the door.

“So… about the…?”

"Oh, yes," Balthazar lifted his head from the paper, with the pen between his teeth for the lack of a cigarette. "Yes. Let me discuss some things with Benny and I'll get back to you on it."

Castiel figured he couldn't keep pushing it right at that moment, so he left the office for the dressing room. Sam and Dean were already rubbing body oil in their chests and abdomens, and they had been kind enough to leave a firefighter suit for Castiel near his bag.

"Guess this means I would have to get someone else to cover for me next Thursday," Sam was complaining.

"I don't know what you're worried about little brother," Dean said, as he adjusted the suspenders on his shoulders. "You're a genius; you don't need to cram for exams. You absorb knowledge through osmosis, like one of those anebas."

"Amoebas," Sam corrected him.

"See? You're smart," Dean said. "We’ll figure something for next Thursday. And don't even think about that asshole Inias."

"I wonder why he quitted," Castiel wondered as he took off his clothes and started folding them carefully.

"Well, don't you boys know?" a voice came out from behind the screen.

Castiel jumped, because he didn't know there was anyone besides the three of them there, and by the irritation in the brother's face, it was obvious they'd forgotten about it as well. Lucifer came out from behind it, already donning the entire firefighter costume, hat included, and smiled at them, unaware or purposefully ignoring their hostility. But even though Sam and Dean were clearly intending to ignore him, Castiel's curiosity was piqued.

"What don't we know?"

"There's a new club opening down the street," Lucifer told them, and his grin became wider at Castiel's surprise. Even Sam and Dean stopped what they were doing to pay attention to him. "Hell Hath No Fury. It's bigger, newer and it intends to be equal opportunity, so you know they'll have female dancers as well. They've already started hiring people for the grand opening two weeks from now. Would you pass me the oil, Sammy?"

Sam ostensibly forced the bottle of oil in Castiel's hand, even though he rarely used and he hadn't ask for it.

"Well, so what?" he asked. "Balthazar's been in the business much longer."

"And you just happened to know this how?" Dean asked, glaring at Lucifer.

"Because they tried to recruit me too, of course," Lucifer said. "I would be shocked if nobody approaches you this week. The pay they offered is much more than what Balthazar's paying us all right now, so it's no wonder Inias accepted."

"And why didn't you?" Castiel asked, not entirely sure if Lucifer was lying or not.

"Because I don't need the extra pay," the dancer replied, with a shrug. "In fact, I don't need to keep working here at all. I do this as a personal favor to Balthazar, and I know he would feel extremely betrayed if I were to dance for anybody else."

"Oh, yeah," Sam said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Because you're so damn loyal, aren’t you?"

Castiel's phone chimed inside his bag. he left the oil bottle on the crowded table only for Lucifer to pick it up.

"I feel like you have a really wrong concept of me, Samuel," he commented. "Perhaps if we got to know each other better..."

"Why are you even here?" Dean complained. "Gadreel and Michael's dressing room is bigger, you only came here to hassle us."

If Lucifer responded to that accusation, Castiel missed it completely. In fact, he missed everything else completely, like the only thing that mattered at that very moment was the words flashing on his screen.

_> Hey, how u doing? This is my number. Meg._

It was ridiculous that his knees got weak at that simple message. it was ridiculous that he smiled so wide and that his heart pounded as he wrote his reply. It was ridiculous that he suddenly felt so happy, but he couldn't help it.

_> Nothing much. Getting ready for the night. You coming to see the show?_

"Cas, hurry up," Dean called him.

"Uh, yeah," Castiel looked down and only then he realized he was only halfway dressed. "Give me a minute..."

The phone chimed again.

_> Not 2night, sorry. College stuff 2 do._

Castiel's heart sank momentarily, before another message arrived.

_> But mayb we can meet up on Sunday?_

He took a deep breath, ignored Sam reminding him they had to be on the stage in fifteen minutes, and started typing his answer, pressing every letter very carefully. He added a face at the end of it and then erased it. He didn't need it to transmit exactly what he thought of Meg's invitation.

_> I'd love that._


	7. Chapter 7

It turned out than when Balthazar planned something, he planned it big. He asked everybody to gather on the club on Sunday morning and announced pretty much what Lucifer had already told Cas, Dean and Sam a few days ago: he wasn't lying, there was a new club opening nearby and it would be a fierce competition.

"That's why we have to step up our game," he told them, standing on the stage like a teacher explaining a very complicated concept to his class. "First, we're going to hire a couple new dancers. If you know of someone that would like to work here, don't hesitate to give them my number or just tell them to come talk to me. Second, we're going to be closing for a couple of weeks. I'll still pay you and give ou an extra something, of course, because I'll still need you to come to practice the new routines," he added when a murmur extended through his employees. "But you would have to do without the tips for some days. I can guarantee you, however, that by the time we're finished, you're going to have even bigger tips."

"Okay, what's the deal?" Michael was the first to ask. "What are you aiming for here?"

Balthazar's smirk was bigger than ever. That day, he looked a lot more like his usual sarcastic, yet enthusiastic self and not the sick, tired version they'd seen during the previous week.

“I’m aiming or greatness, sweetheart, shouldn’t we all?”

And then he broke into a long rant about remodeling, and new costumes and themes, new routines, new ways to interact with the clients and most definitely new salaries for everybody, because if the other clubs owners approach them with an offering, they could come to him and he would offer them an even sweeter deal.

“What do you think, my darlings?” he asked in the end.

“Well, the madness comes through easily, that’s for sure,” Dean said.

“Don’t be a Negative Nancy, Dean, that’s not attractive,” Balthazar replied, climbing down the stage. “Oh, I’m so excited. This is going to be a great event!”

“Did you say two Saturdays from now?” Ash asked, looking at his tablet’s screen.

“That’s exactly what I said, yes,” Balthazar replied, crossing his arms over his chest. “Why, is there a problem with that?”

“No, just… it’s Valentine’s Day. And also, that’s just the date Hell Hath No Fury is opening,” Ash pointed out, turning the tablet around so everybody could see it.

“Is that a good idea?” Sam asked. “We’ll be in direct competition with…”

“They entered in direct competition with me the day the installed their week-ass club in my street,” Balthazar replied, his eye twitching with barely contained anger. “So now they have to deal with it. And before you ask, no, I’m not particularly worried. We have a stream of loyal clients who will be more than delighted to see what we have in store for them. Now that you all know what you have to do, go home, rest, and come back with ideas of how to make this place, paradise. Hey, Ash, can you show me that thing again? What is it like, a website? Can you make us one of those?”

“Well, he’s really good at pep-talks, that’s for sure,” Dean commented as everyone got their coats on.

“Hey, Cas, you want to come home with us?” Sam offered. “We could have a beer, watch TV…”

“That’s… very nice of you,” Castiel said, taken aback by the sudden invitation, but before he could say he had other plans, Dean glared at his brother.

“Are you inviting him just so I have someone to hang with to get off your back and let you study?” he asked.

“No, why would I do that?” Sam asked.

“I told you, man, I can hang by myself, you don’t have to invite Cas over for a play date or something!”

“Guys,” Castiel intervened before the brothers started arguing like the old married couple they were deep down. “It doesn’t matter. I can’t go anyway, because I have a date with…”

“Cas, there you are,” Balthazar practically materialized by their side, still smiling. “So, this lady friend of yours you mentioned…?”

"Uh, yeah, I was just telling Dean and Sam about that," Castiel said, a little taken aback by how many people were suddenly interested in his business. "I'm actually going to meet up with her later today for coffee..."

"Wonderful!" Balthazar clapped. "That means we can start negotiating and helping you choose your tattoo today! How kind of her to work on a Sunday. Text me the address, will you, darling? I'll see you there."

And he pranced away before Castiel could add another word.

"Why is Balthazar going with you?" Dean asked. "I thought it was a date."

"It was," Castiel sighed, hopelessly.

 

* * *

 

He texted Balthazar the address, because he figured something as simple as not telling him wouldn't stop him from finding out where they were meeting.

The café was actually a few blocks away from Masters' Ink. It was a cozy, warm place with abstract paintings decorating the walls and large armchairs in front of small tables. It had a stage with a microphone mounted on it, but no one was standing on it at the moment. Instead, soft, relaxing music filled the air along with the rumor of conversations from the clients sitting in groups. The ones who sat alone were writing on moleskins or drawing on sketchbooks.

Castiel figured it must have been a popular place among college students, because most of the clients couldn't be older than twenty five and many of them were wearing black thick-framed glasses. He didn't want to judge, but he wondered how many of them actually needed them.

He chose a seat by the large windows that showed the grey, wet street outside. They hadn't had snow that year, but the rain had fallen almost ceaselessly all winter.

"What can I get you?" a brunette waitress asked him as soon as he'd settled down and taken off his coat.

"I'm waiting for someone... oh, there she is now," he added.

Meg had passed like a flash of platinum hair and a red coat by the window, and a second later, she was taking flailing down in the chair in front of him.

"The usual for me, Ruby," she told the waitress. Her hair was brighter and whiter than before and there was no trace of her black roots, like she had re-dyed in anticipation to that very moment. She wasn't wearing too much make up, but her lips were the same tone of red as her coat when she smiled at Castiel. "And you?"

Castiel took two seconds to despair that she had gone the extra mile to look that beautiful for a date that was going to be mercilessly crushed by his boss at any second now before he smiled as well.

"I... I don't know what's good here."

"Well, new people are usual partial to our lattes," Ruby replied. "I could also bring you a complimentary piece of cheesecake to share."

"You don't have to do that," Meg cringed.

"Oh, I want to do that," Ruby smiled wide. "How long's been since my best girl's got a date?"

"Shut up," Meg muttered, mortified.

Ruby laughed and squeezed her shoulder before striding towards the counter.

"You come here a lot?" Castiel asked.

"It's a popular spot among my classmates," Meg clarified, as if that was necessary. "And the cheesecake's actually good. Unless you're lactose intolerant?" she added, as if it only now occurred to her.

"No, no, I'm not. I'm actually very fond of milk."

He didn't need anyone to tell him how stupid and wrong that sounded. He thumped his head against the table while Meg completely cracked up at him.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, hoping the earth would open up and swallow him.

"For what?" Meg chuckled.

"I just seem to turn into an incoherent mess when I'm with or around you," he admitted. "So I guess I should apologize in advance for any and all dumb comments that come out of my mouth."

"Hey, don't," Meg said, stretching her hand to lay it on top of his. "That's actually kind of flattering."

Castiel was so mesmerized by the warmth of her thumb drawing circles on his skin he completely missed Balthazar until he was inside the café, taking off his scarf and coat.

"What's wrong?" Meg asked, so Castiel assumed the horror he felt was evident in his face.

"I'm sorry," he apologized again. "Really, really sorry. I tried to..."

"Well, hello," Balthazar greeted them, sliding towards their table. "Hope I didn't keep you, kids, waiting too long."

Castiel supposed the polite thing to do was introducing them, but he was too busy wondering how many times in a day was it healthy to wish for the power to vanish in thin air. Fortunately, Meg didn't seem to have a problem with. She opened her eyes in shock, but she kept her composure marvelously.

"Oh, my God, you're Balthazar," she said, like she recognized an actor from a series or a musician. "Hi, I'm Meg. Big fan of your establishment."

"Why, thank you, my dear," Balthazar said, kissing the back of the hand Meg had offered him. "It's always my pleasure to please the ladies. Black coffee for me, thanks," he added without missing a beat when Ruby showed up with their order. "And can you bring me another chair, if you’re so kind? Honestly, Castiel, you knew I was coming. The least you could have done is picking a bigger table. How rude of you."

Meg shot an interrogating look at Castiel. Ruby stood there, a little taken aback from this sudden development before her training as a waitress kicked in. Castiel could tell because he too had, in multiple occasions, decided it was easier to roll with whatever the client was asking than to stop and wonder what exactly had gone wrong in their lives that they would be asking for that.

"Okay," she said, putting down the steaming mugs and the piece of cheesecake before methodically sticking the platter under her arm. "In his defense, all our tables are the same size," she added after dragging another arm chair for Balthazar.

“Oh, I like you,” Balthazar laughed, as he sat down on the chair. “I love ladies with a sense of humor. Tell me, can I smoke in here?”

“Sorry, no,” Ruby replied.

Balthazar, who was already halfway into taking out his packet of cigarettes, clicked his tongue and promptly put it away again.

“I guess I’ll have to deal,” he sighed, just before he leaned his chin on his hand and stared directly at Meg’s face. “So, what are your intentions towards my boy here?”

“Uh… I was hoping to meet him a little bit better before I decided,” Meg said, clearly confused but rapidly recovering.

“Oh, another wonderful girl with humor,” Balthazar grinned. “Congratulations, Castiel.”

“Actually, we were…” Castiel tried to explain, but once again he was interrupted by Balthazar’s relentlessness.

“I meant artistically. He tells me you have a great talent when it comes to drawings and tattoos.”

“Did he now?” Meg asked, crooking an eyebrow. Castiel couldn’t know if that was a good or a bad sign.

“Oh, yes,” Balthazar nodded as Ruby came back with his coffee. “Thank you, beautiful. He’s been singing your praises for days on end. ‘ _Meg this, Meg that, oh, she’s so great and so gorgeous…’_ He’s actually so thoroughly smitten it’s kind of sad.”

At that point, Castiel was thinking breaking the mug and stabbing himself with one of the sharp edges was a better option than continue living after this, but a beautiful sound deterred him: Meg was chuckling, amused.

“I guess I could show you some designs for back tattoos,” she said. “And if you see something you like, you can tell and I’ll use to make something for you. I mean, if you’re still up for that.”

“I… I am, yes,” Castiel affirmed, hoping Meg would make nothing of his stutter. “I actually have my mind completely made up about it.”

They both looked at him like they suspected that wasn’t actually quite true, Balthazar with his head tilted, Meg still with her eyebrow up.

“Mostly made up,” Castiel ended up confessing, and Meg chuckled again.

“Let’s go to the studio then,” she proposed.

“Yes, excellent,” Balthazar said, slowly sliding the plate with the cheesecake closer. “But first, let’s finish this wonderful snack, shall we?”

 

* * *

 

Tom was on the couch, zapping through channels and zipping from a beer when Meg marched into the apartment.

“Thought you were on a date,” he said, surprised.

“So did I,” Meg replied, bitterly, as she hanged her coat behind the door.

She squirreled into her bedroom with the excuse to look for her sketchbook and some more magazines she had on the closet so her brother couldn’t tell how bitter she was about the whole ordeal. Dammit, she’d really hoped this would be the chance where they could finally speak face to face, sober, and come to some sort of common ground in which to base their relationship. Because Meg wasn’t kidding herself: she liked Castiel, a lot. Nothing would have made her happier than getting him into her bed, but she also knew rushing it would be a mistake. She had made it several times in the past and she was decided not to this time.

So it was disappointing that his boss had dropped by and so casually cock-blocked them. She wished Castiel had spoken up. She didn’t expect to tell him to kindly fuck off because the man paid him after all, but maybe insisted they didn’t have to interrupt their coffee right there. Suggest the designs could wait for later. Bring up the fact that it was very much a date. _Something_. Either way, she was going to let Castiel know how unhappy she was with this.

She found the special editions of massive tattoos and collected four or five before risking exiting the room again.

“And what happened?” Tom asked, like the conversation hadn’t been interrupted at all.

“Tell you later,” Meg groaned as she headed downstairs.

On the other hand, yes, she was irritated, but not enough to scream at Castiel to leave the studio and never talk to her again. As soon as they were done with Balthazar, she could demand some sort of explanation out of him and if it was good, maybe she would consider giving him a second chance.

God, she was getting soft. Must have been the years. Or that she really liked this guy.

“Dating a client, Castiel?” Balthazar’s voice reached her ears. “That’s not… recommendable.”

She halted right where she was. she knew eavesdropping on people was rude, but in this case, they were talking about her, so…

“You said nothing about it when you hired me,” Castiel argued. “Is it not allowed?”

“It’s not that, exactly,” Balthazar replied. His voice sounded a lot rougher when he wasn’t on stage trying to be upbeat and sexy. “I mean, there have been cases, but it hasn’t always ended up in the most amiable terms…”

“I don’t see the problem,” Castiel interrupted him. “You don’t know if that will be the case with me and Meg. We don’t even know, because we haven’t got to know each other properly. That’s why people date.”

There was a pause. Meg wondered if Balthazar wasn’t involved in the petty little dramas of his dancers or if he knew about the earlier days when she visited the club, the reason she stopped and why it took her so long to come back. And if he knew, would he tell Castiel? Did she want him to know? No. At least, not for now and not if someone else told him about it. She climbed down another step…

“Very well,” Balthazar said, very slowly. “You do you, darling.”

“Thank you. Intend so,” Castiel answered. There was a certain coolness to his voice, like he had planned to do that from the start and didn’t really need Balthazar’s blessing for it.

Meg decided her softness was definitely Castiel-induced only.

“Hey, guys,” she called up so they wouldn’t continue talking and say something embarrassing. “I got the magazines.”

“Let me help you with that,” Castiel said and before Meg could protest, he took half of the pile from her hands and marched them to the coffee table in the front.

Balthazar was on the couch, his long legs crossed and a smoking cigarette in his hand. Without saying a word, Meg found an ashtray behind the reception desk and pushed towards him. Balthazar had the decency to look embarrassed, but he immediately covered it up with a charming smile.

“Thank you, sweetie,” he said, while Castiel bit back a laughter by ordering the magazines in smaller piles. “Do you have the vice?”

“Nope, I quitted,” Meg answered, dragging a chair to sit in front of them. “I only smoke in special occasions, like Christmas. And after really good sex.”

The three magazines Castiel had in his hand slipped from his fingers and it was Balthazar’s turn to laugh.

“Well, that’s very healthy of you,” Balthazar said, pulling the ashtray closer to him. “But I am of the opinion any occasion is good to have a smoke.”

“And I’m of the opinion any occasion is good to have sex,” Meg replied. “So I’m not about to disagree with you on that.”

“So glad we found common ground,” Balthazar said. Castiel’s face was red and he was uselessly trying to hide it behind one of the magazines, until he turned a page.

“Oh,” he muttered, his embarrassed expression mutating into a frown of confusion. “That looks… painful and inconvenient.”

He turned it round so they could see. The picture showed a man’s stomach and crotch, with a tattoo of blue sea waves and colorful fish coming down from his nipples all the way down to his thighs. The penis was censored, but if the blue blur was anything to go by, it was safe to assume it had been tattooed as well. Balthazar crossed his legs.

“Nothing against your line of work, sweetie, but why would anyone agree to that?”

Meg exploded in an involuntary fit of laughter. After their fail attempt at a date and Castiel declaring that he wanted to know her better against Balthazar’s advice, a blue censored penis was exactly the kind of nonsense she needed to stop thinking so seriously about everything. And seeing Castiel finally smiled since Balthazar had crashed their date was simply the cherry on top.

“I’m completely serious,” Balthazar kept asking, when Meg’s chuckled died out. “Why?”

“We don’t ink faces or genitals,” Meg said, as she passed the pages of a magazine. “So I couldn’t tell you. I’ve never had a guy walk in and request his penis tattooed, but I’m guessing we have that rule because it happened to my brother. I would have to ask him.”

“What was the strangest request you’ve had?” Castiel asked.

Meg had to think about that for a minute. She had been a tattoo artist for about five years, but there were still plenty stories she could tell.

“The elephant guy,” she decided. “He wanted an elephant tattooed, but not like a colorful elephant, or a geometrical elephant. Just an elephant.”

At first neither Balthazar nor Castiel seemed to think that was anything out of the ordinary, but after a few seconds, they realized the same thing as Meg: that was a simple, yet strangely specific thing to have tattooed.

“Like a special elephant? With some sort of decoration or…?”

“No, just an elephant.”

“Maybe the elephant inside of the boa like in _The Little Prince_?” Castiel suggested.

Meg was surprised. That was actually one of the suggestions she had made to the guy.

“No, a run of the mill elephant,” she explained, trying to convey the serious tone of the elephant guy while he requested that. “He wanted it in his lower back.”

Castiel tilted his head, disconcerted.

“Was there a reason for it?” he asked. “Was it supposed to commemorate something or maybe he worked with animals? Was he a zoo keeper or…?”

“I asked,” Meg nodded. “He said he just really liked elephants.”

“And what did you do?”

“I drew an elephant charging and inked it,” Meg shrugged. “He loved it, and he even tipped.”

Castiel was dumbfounded for a second, and then he let out another of those little confused chuckles Meg had so easily become fond of.

“That _is_ odd,” he conceded.

“Yeah, it was,” Meg said. “But like, also charming. We have a lot of people come in and ask for thing like Chinese characters for ‘love’ or ‘courage’ because they’re so profound and zen or guys who think having a tattoo will make them look badass and get them laid… I mean, it’s a free country, you can get a tattoo for whatever reason you like, but having an elephant tattooed just because you like them it’s naïve and… cute, in a way.”

Castiel nodded, like he totally understood where Meg was coming from, and opened his mouth to make another question.

“I really hope you don’t think of us that poorly, then,” Balthazar said, startling them both. They had absolutely forgotten he was there too. “We’re having Castiel inked so he will look more appealing to the ladies, after all.”

“I’m not… that’s not… _all_ of the reason,” Castiel stuttered.

“Speaking of which, how about this?” Balthazar asked, turning a magazine around so they could see a portrait of Archangel Michael stabbing the Devil in the back of the model. “Or is it too over the top? It’s the closest I could find to angel wings here.”

“It’s pretty over the top,” Meg agreed. Only then she realized neither her nor Castiel had been looking at the magazines while they talked. “But uh, these things have thematic indexes at the end, so maybe you can just see if there are any wings pictures there. We’re still talking wings, right?”

“Yes, wings,”  Balthazar said, as he rapidly turned the pages to the very end and opened his eyes in shock when he realized Meg was right about the index. “Oh, well, this should speed things up.”

“How about you?” Meg asked, because since Castiel had asked her something, she believed it was only fair she did the same thing. “How did you start dancing?”

“As a favor,” Castiel shrugged. Meg crooked an eyebrow, waiting for him to elaborate. “I was ten years old, and my cousin Hael was six. She was taking ballet, you know, as little girls do, and I was tasked with picking her up after classes and walk her to our house until Aunt Amara could pick her up from work. To me it was a great responsibility, I took it very seriously. So one day in October, Hael came out crying out loud, just bawling her eyes out and I had no idea what to do. When she calmed down, she told me her teacher wanted to make a Nutcracker presentation for Christmas, but there were no boys in the class to play the Prince.”

“Oh, let me guess,” Meg smirked. “You just couldn’t say no to that little face.”

“She was like a little sister to me, so… no,” Castiel shook his head. “I got bullied and teased a lot at school when people found out, so I told myself I’d only attend the classes until the Christmas presentation was done. But, by then…”

“You’ve already caught the bug,” Meg guessed.

“That’s one way to put it,” Castiel nodded. “There was a lot going on at my house right around that time, and I found out dancing was a way I could… escape all that. A way to feel safe from the scary things going on my life.”

Meg blinked a couple of times.

“I feel the same way about drawing,” she confessed.

It was a strange thing to admit out loud, because she rarely ever thought about it, but when Castiel had said, it made perfect sense. He looked at her, his blue eyes shining and his lips lightly parted, like he wanted to say something but he was still halfway into finding the words…

Balthazar cleared his throat.

“That’s lovely, my dears,” he interrupted them. He sounded a little annoyed, and Meg couldn’t blame him. She had completely forgotten he was there as well. By the way Castiel cringed, half-embarrassed, it was obvious the same thing had happened to him. “Meg, these magazines are quite the… interesting read, but are you sure we’re going to find something related to our needs here?”

Meg was starting to think she liked Balthazar better before she got to know him outside of his stage persona.

“We’ll we haven’t even gone through half of them,” she pointed out. Castiel was opening the one that had laid idly in his hands up until that point and hurriedly turning the pages. “So maybe it’s just a matter of being patient and…”

“How about something like this?” Castiel asked, suddenly.

He was frowning in concentration again, like he wasn’t entirely convinced about what he was seeing, but he still turned around the magazine for Meg to see. The model was a girl, but the wings she had tattooed covered her back from shoulder to hip. The artist had paid particular attention to the feathers, and added some shadows at the top of the wings to make them seem like they were springing from her skin.

“Huh,” Meg muttered and grabbed the magazine. “Well, it’s a start. I like the feathers, but not the way the wings are placed…”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, for them to look correct, they wouldn’t have to be just in the back,” she said, standing up and grabbing Castiel’s hand to gently get him to extend his arm. “I think it should start on your shoulder blades, go down your back, but also on your biceps,” she explained, tracing the places she was naming with her fingers. “They’d be a little bigger, but when you open your arm it’d look like you’re extending them.”

“Oh, that _is_ more interesting,” Balthazar agreed, closing the magazine. “Could you draw it?”

Meg was already picking up her sketchbook from behind the desk.

“The feathers coming down the arm should be longer,” she muttered as her pencil slide on the paper.

“Yes,” Castiel said, and for the first time, Mg noticed something resembling enthusiasm in his voice as he leaned over to look at her sketch. “They’d look like eagle wings.”

“Exactly what I had in mind,” Meg said. She added a few more details to the rough sketch and showed it to them. It showed half the back of a man about Castiel’s contexture, with the place the wings would go in. “of course, I would need some time to design it bigger and then Tom…”

“Tom?” Castiel repeated. There was confusion in his voice. “I thought you would be doing it.”

“Well, I’ve done a couple of big tattoos before, but Tom has a lot more experience with them than me,” Meg admitted. Castiel was already shaking his head.

“No,” he said, taking Meg’s hand between his. “I want you to do it.”

And much like Castiel couldn’t refuse his little cousin, Meg really couldn’t say no to that. There was something so sincere about his request, like he really wanted Meg to…

“Wonderful! We’re all set, then,” Balthazar said, clapping his hands. “You can send the check to the club, my dear. Don’t worry about a thing; I’ll take care of everything.”

Meg decided she was going to charge a little extra, just because she was still frustrated she didn’t get to have that coffee with Castiel. He seemed to be thinking the same thing, because while Balthazar stood by the door putting on his coat, he approached Meg to apologize.

“I’m really sorry it turned out like this.”

“Hey, don’t worry,” Meg said. “I’m a little disappointed, but I’m starting to get why you couldn’t tell him not to come.”

“Yes, Balthazar can be a bit… overbearing,” Castiel lowered his voice and scratched the back of his neck. Obviously, he didn’t want his boss hear him say that. “Rain check?”

“Sure,” Meg agreed. Castiel smiled and leaned forwards, perhaps to give her a kiss goodbye, but she never got to find out: she put a hand on his chest to stop him and softly push him away. “But you’ll have to cash it after we’re done. I don’t date clients.”

“Really?” Castiel asked, and when Meg shrugged, he laughed again. “Okay, that’s fair.”

Meg stayed by the window, watching them walk away in the grey afternoon that was rapidly turning black until she heard Tom’s steps on the stairs.

“I guess I won’t have to whip out the noise-cancelling earplugs tonight.”

Instead of throwing something at him like she wanted, Meg calmly walked to the reception desk. She had work to do. Castiel had trusted her with someone that would be permanent in his body, and she was going to make damn well sure it was her best job yet.


	8. Chapter 8

Castiel had known from the beginning that Balthazar was relentless and a bit obsessive when it came to the club. He hadn’t realized his boss could also be very creative, yet downright mean when it came to things going the way he envisioned them.

“No, no, Dean, you need to be more elegant!”

“I can’t lift my leg that high. Sorry.”

“Have you been eating cheeseburgers again?”

“Practically every day,” Sam replied before Dean could lie about it.

Facepalming with a lit cigarette between his fingers was a gesture Balthazar had somehow turned into a work of art.

“Very well, then,” he sighed. “Let’s try another style. And song. And costume.”

In about three days, the routines and timing had changed at least about five times. Balthazar was trying to set up a sort of opera rock about a war in Heaven, but when some of the boys complained they couldn’t dance with the Styrofoam wings and the tunics proved to be a tripping hazard on the stage once discarded, the concept had been changed to reflect a war between heaven and hell. Except Dean couldn’t really move in the red leotard and Sam absolutely refused to take the role of Lucifer, arguing they already had one and why wasn’t he practicing with them? So Balthazar had assigned them to be the everyman who sort of stumbled into the war because… reasons. The script became a little unclear on that.

“Are you sure all of that is necessary?” Benny asked when Balthazar despaired and started writing down his ideas and corrections in a moleskin notebook without paying a single ounce of attention to what the guys were doing onstage. “I don’t think the clients will care that much about the…”

“Benny, just let me be,” Balthazar sighed, dramatically. “Being a play director has always been my unfulfilled dream. Did I ever tell you that?”

“I thought your unfulfilled dream was being a choreographer,” Benny said, like he had actually heard the same thing many times before.

“That too,” Balthazar replied. “Cas, darling, you’re a blessing. At least you’re the only one who is trying.”

Castiel had approached them to ask them to leave early because he had a job interview the following day during the morning, but two things threw him off. Once was the comment, and the other was Balthazar’s aspect.

“Do you feel alright?”

“Oh, yes, I’m perfectly fine,” Balthazar replied, too quickly for him not to think he was lying. “Why do you ask?”

Castiel could have named a number of reasons: the bags under his eyes were deeper, his skin was pale, his clothes looked baggy, like he had lost weight, and the ashtray in front of him wasn’t as full as usual, like he had actually smoked less in all the hours they had been practicing. But he looked over Balthazar’s shoulder in time to see Benny shaking his head.

“No reason,” Castiel lied, and told him about the interview. “It’s the afternoon shift in a gas station. Not very exciting, but it’ll help me make it to the end of the month. And I’ll still have the mornings free to rehearse.”

“You work too hard,” Balthazar said. “If you need a raise, just say so and I’ll give it to you.”

“That’s very generous, but I’m trying to save some money, because in September…”

“Ah, you still have our heart set in that snobby academy of yours,” Balthazar sighed, interrupting him. “Yes, I hear you. But listen to me. You’re young. Life isn’t all about trying to get where you want to go, you have to make room for detours, for living other experiences. How’s Meg?”

Castiel blinked, trying to recover from the whiplash of that question.

“Uh… I haven’t heard back from her yet,” he said. “Are you sure you’re feeling alright? You don’t usual get this… philosophical.”

Benny shook his head again, but this time Balthazar caught him out the corner of his eye.

“Darling, please…” he started, but Castiel never found out what he was about to say. Rudy walked into the bar with a boy that couldn’t be older than eighteen, who kept looking around the club with eyes wide open.

“Boss, the kid here says he’s got an audition?”

“Ah, yes,” Balthazar put out his cigarette and walked towards the boy with an inviting smile and a hand extended. “Alfie, wasn’t it? We talked on the phone. You… look a bit younger than I expected you to…”

“Oh, I-I know,” the boy stuttered and smiled, shyly. “But I promise, I can work harder than anyone. Just give me a chance, please. I really need the money.”

Castiel exchanged a look with the other dancers onstage. He thought he was pretty skinny compared to them, but Alfie was going to completely disappear among the taller, more muscular guys. Not to mention he looked fresh out of high school, and that might some of the clients a bit uncomfortable. Balthazar seemed to be thinking the same thing, but apparently, he didn’t have the heart to turn the kid down.

“Oh, very well, come into my office,” he said, pointing to the back of the club. “We’ll find something for you to do.”

Benny waited until Balthazar was out of earshot before turning to Castiel with a sigh.

“Come with me, brotha’. Help me out with these bottles.”

There was something he wanted to tell him, Castiel realized, but Benny didn’t start talking until they were outside and classifying all the empty bottles of alcohol that had been littered in the back of the bar.

“I’m sure you’re not the only one who’s noticed something’s off,” he told Castiel. “But you’d do well not to mention it directly to his face.”

“Why not?” Castiel frowned. “I just… I’m very thankful to Balthazar for giving me this job and the fact he looks so bad worries me…”

“I get that,” Benny interrupted him. He took a bottle out and look at it like it reminded him of something. Something unpleasant, but then he continued: “Did I ever tell you about the time I spent in the can?”

“The can?” Castiel repeated. After a few seconds of confusion and an eloquent look from Benny, it dawned on him: “Oh… you were in jail.”

“I did some favors for my dealer,” Benny explained. “But because I was expendable, he left me high and dry when the cops came calling. I did seven years of the fifteen I got and they let me out on probation ‘cause I behaved. Balthazar was the only one who dared hire a junkie and an ex-con. The only thing he told me was that if I ever showed up high, that’d be the end of it, and it worked, because I’ve been clean since. So I understand that thing about being thankful to him.”

He went quiet, like he had forgotten where he was going with all of that. Castiel patiently waited for him to continue, while keeping his eyes down on the bottles and tying the garbage bags close. It was something very personal Benny was telling him, and it didn’t feel right to try to pressure him into it.

“He’s sick,” Benny continued, in the end. “How sick and why, your guess’ as good as mine. But it’s becoming pretty obvious for everybody.”

Castiel knew it, even though he wouldn’t have dared to say it out loud as clearly as Benny, but the moment the words were out, he realized he’d known it for a while now. It’d been easy to blame it on the stress of the competition and the renewals at the club, but he was certain Balthazar had dealt with worse. This was something else entirely.

“What should we do?”

“There’s nothing we can do,” Benny shrugged. “If he won’t tell us anything, the best is to assume he doesn’t want us to know about it and keep our mouths shut. The other guys have been here longer, they know how he is when somebody tries to offer him help or probe him about something personal. It’s not easy, I know,” he added when Castiel opened his mouth to protest. “But out of respect, you shouldn’t try to poke him or give him advice or nothing of the sorts. In the end he’ll do exactly what he wants to do, as usual.”

“Yeah, I get that…” Castiel started, but a vibration in his pocket and the twinkle of bells interrupted him.

_> Got ur wings._

Castiel had figured that after Meg going radio silent for so many days in a row, he’d be able to handle it better when she texted him or called him again. By the backflip his stomach had just done, that was obviously not going to be the case.

He still tried to play it cool when he answered.

_> When can I see them?_

The answer came before he could resume his conversation with Benny.

_> Come by the studio after hours. It’s a big 1._

Castiel took it to mean that she wanted no interruptions or other clients butting in while she worked. They’d be alone, just her and… her brother probably. Castiel brought back his thoughts from the fantastic heights they had so easily flown to, and answered with a simple:

_> Okay. See you then._

“Special lady, huh?” Benny asked.

Castiel blinked. Had he said anything out loud that might have led him to think that?

“It’s written all over your face, Romeo,” Benny replied to the silent question. “Do you have to go now?”

“I can stick around for a few more hours.”

“Awesome. Let’s get back inside,” Benny said, patting him in the back. “And remember: don’t mention the elephant in the room to him unless he mentions it first.”

Castiel wasn’t sure he could accomplish that, but he was going to try.

 

* * *

 

The day had been relentlessly slow at Masters’ Ink. A couple of nineteen-year-olds guys had come in to get their tongues and noses pierced and left them a bunch of flyers to their punk rock concert in a seedy little bar Meg remembered being at back in high school. She had lied about her age to get inside, and looking back, the bouncer had probably realized it and let her in anyway because the place seemed to attract a lot of teenagers. At twenty-three, Meg no longer felt like hanging out with them anymore, and she definitely didn’t feel it when one of them started flirting with her.

“Come on, we’ll let you in the backstage. It’ll be tons of fun.”

“Babysitting isn’t my idea of fun, thank you.”

The guy had looked at her with resentment while his friend burst into tears of laughter.

“Nice!” he said, before fist-bumping Meg and dragging his still confused friend out of the studio.

Later, she felt a little bad for it. They were, after all, the most interesting thing that had happened that day.

Well, at least until her screen lit up with a message from Castiel announcing he’d be there in fifteen minutes. And no, the fact she went to the bathroom to check her hair and reapply lipstick had nothing to do with it.

“Seriously?” Tom asked. “I thought you’d already given up on sleeping with this guy.”

“Fuck off, Tom,” she replied without missing a beat,

“What, he can’t get it up?” Tom continued hassling her. “Is he saving himself for marriage? Are you gonna marry him?”

Meg showed him a middle finger before running downstairs. She was just turning the “CLOSED” signed around when Castiel walked past the window and waved at her.

How was he so unbearably cute when he had his clothes on and so irresistibly sexy when he didn't, Meg had no idea. She opened the door with a smile.

“Hello,” he greeted her.

“Hey, come on in,” she invited him before locking the door behind him and dousing the lights so only the part behind the screen would be lit. That way nobody would bother them. Well, except if Tom wanted to come the stairs and drop a few more hints that he thought they were sleeping together, but him, she could handle.

“So, uh… how do we do this?” Castiel asked.

“First you gotta tell me if you like the design,” Meg said pointed out, beckoning him to follow her. “After all, you’re the one who’s gonna have this on you forever.”

She picked up the canvas from behind the reception desk and placed it on the ink table so he could take a good look at it. The second she revised it, she cringed a little. She’d only drawn one wing, so with the magic of the stencil, they would both look symmetrical when she’d applied them on Castiel’s skin. But now that she thought about it, maybe she should have done them individually: one could have the feathers more ruffled or have another detail to make it different from the other. And maybe she hadn’t done it big enough or it would look too small. She should have taken Castiel’s measures before she started the design. She was about to say that, but when she turned to look at him, she noticed he was smiling.

“It’s perfect.”

“Are you sure? You don’t want anything changed? Now would be the time to tell me, because once we get started…”

“Meg,” Castiel grabbed her hand and squeezed it between his. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

His eyes made her a little weak on the knees again, but Meg tried to ignore that and act professional.

“Okay,” she said. “Let’s get on with it then. Take off your shirt… I’m sure you’re not tired of hearing that or anything.”

“Right, that’s original,” Castiel said. She could only see his back, but she would have bet her one last dollar that he’d just rolled his eyes.

“Sorry,” she laughed as she secured the stencil over the canvas to copy the wing. “So depending on your pain threshold, we can either do both wings tonight and add the shading tomorrow. Or we can do the outline of one wing, do the other tomorrow and see how you handle the shading in a couple of days.”

“I think we should try to go for both of them tonight,” he said.

“Yeah? I think it being your first time and everything, we should start slow,” Meg said, as she quickly traced the outlines of each wing. “No need to act all though on me.”

“That wasn’t my intention.”

“Of course it wasn’t,” Meg laughed. “Seriously, though, if you at any point feel sick or like you can’t take it anymore…”

“I just thought the sooner we finish, the sooner I could ask you out on a date again,” Castiel said. “But I’m not about to tell you how to do your job.”

Meg thanked Satan and all his demons for her pulse, because Castiel’s word totally messed with her concentration and that would have ruined the stencil. She still had to leave her hand still for a second before continuing.

“Well, that’s a flattering thought,” she said, relieved he couldn’t see the way her cheeks were burning. “But yes, I’m still on the let’s take it easy boat.”

After she said that, she realized it could have sounded as a double entendre about them dating, which was completely not what she meant. But before she could take it back or explain herself, she finished the stencil and turned to Castiel. His shoulders were slumped in disappointment, but he was still smiling.

“Fair enough,” he said. “Should I lie down?”

“Yes, please,” Meg replied, reminding herself she had a job to do. “And stretch your arm like that… okay, now stay still.”

She pressed the stencil against Castiel’s white skin and stepped backwards to contemplate her work. Usually she wasn’t happy with how the outline came out, because she thought it wasn’t in the right position or it was crooked or some other thing that never convinced her. Tom said she was a perfectionist. Meg just replied she liked doing things right.

But this time none of those thoughts came to her. Maybe because she had observed Castiel’s back so carefully, maybe because she had spent so much time drawing it for her art, she’d got the proportions just right: the wing came out of Castiel’s shoulder blade and went down to his lower back, while the feathers that adorned his arm finished right above his shoulder. It was going to look so pretty once she was done with all the details and the shades, she actually felt excited while she put on her gloves and prepared the machine.

“You’re going to feel a little sting, but it shouldn’t be too bad,” she warned him. “It’s like nails scratching your skin when it isn’t itching.”

“I think I can take that… ah!” Castiel startled and Meg immediately moved the machine away.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I just… wasn’t ready,” he admitted with a grimace. Meg chuckled at his face.

“Okay, I’m giving you a warning this time,” she promised. “Take a deep breath… here we go.”

Castiel flinched a little when the nail sank in his skin, but he started to relax after a few seconds. Meg had the impression he was forcing himself to stay calm, so she decided to make small chat over the buzzing of the needle while she worked.

“You’re doing great. The back is actually one of the easiest spots,” she commented. “Your ribs, however, that’s another story. I’ve got people who’ve had to drink an entire bottle of alcohol before they tried it.”

“That’s… encouraging,” Castiel replied. “What other areas are painful?”

“Well, remember the guy we saw that had his penis inked? I don’t know how they did that unless he was unconscious,” Meg said, and Castiel giggled a little. “The inside of your elbow and the back of your kneecaps are also really bad. Your butt, incredibly, is one of the least painful places. I know for experience.”

Castiel’s eyes grew larger, and Meg had the satisfaction to know he was now thinking about her butt for sure, because it took him a couple of seconds to come up with a coherent sentence.

“You… uh… how long… I mean…”

“Well, the first time I did it, I was fifteen,” she said. “I lied about my age, and in retrospective, it was a shitty thing to do. The guy could have got into a lot of trouble.”

“Uh… you’re talking about…?”

“My first tattoo, of course,” Meg replied, happily. “What else?”

“Oh, yeah, what else?” Castiel said, and cleared his throat. Meg decided to stop being cruel to him. For now.

“We always liked drawing,” she told him. “Our mom left us when we were very little, but not too little that we didn’t understand what was going on. Our dad looked beaten, so Tom told me we should draw something to cheer him up. He drew a tree (I have no idea why) and I drew a family of three: him, Tom and me. I don’t know, maybe I thought that if she didn’t want to be with us, then I didn’t want to be with her either. Heavy thing to deal with for a six year old, huh? Anyway, our dad loved them. He hugged us very tight and then hanged them on the fridge. It was the first time we saw him smile after she left… I’m sorry, this must be really boring for you.”

She went quiet, not because she really thought Castiel would find it boring, but because she realized she was talking about some really personal things so liberally. She could have just chosen the short version of the story of how long she’d been tattooing for a living. She never talked about her parents with anybody. Hell, she usually didn’t even talk about them with Tom.

“No, please, you’re not boring me at all,” Castiel said, cutting her thoughts short. “I want to know more about you.”

Meg moved the needle away from his skin to recharge it, but also, because she couldn’t face Castiel’s enormous eyes right at that moment.

“Do you have to always do that?”

“Do what?” Castiel asked. There was confusion in his voice.

“That thing you do, being so direct and sincere,” she explained, focusing on the ink. “And showing interest in me and whatnot.”

Castiel frowned and tilted his head, and Meg couldn’t blame him. She herself wasn’t even sure what she was trying to say.

“I… I’m sorry; I didn’t know it was inappropriate…”

“It’s not. It’s actually kind of sweet,” Meg replied. “But I’m so not used to it that I don’t know what to do with it.”

It wasn’t until the words left her mouth that she realized she had just straight up admitted she’d never had a guy treating her decently and how sad that was. Castiel must have been thinking that too, because he was still staring at her a little disconcerted.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “The last thing I want to do is make you uncomfortable.”

Meg took a deep breath. Now he was uncomfortable too, and he certainly didn’t deserve that.

“It’s not uncomfortable,” she said. “It’s actually too comfortable to talk to you.”

Castiel blinked a couple of times.

“And that’s… a bad thing?”

“Well, yeah,” Meg replied, and finally, she found a way to make a joke about the whole thing: “I have to keep some of my mysterious aura, or you’ll get bored.”

It worked. The crooked, happy smile returned to Castiel’s lips.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get bored,” he said. “But as you wish.”

“Don’t try to Princess Bride me, Buttercup,” Meg rolled her eyes. “You seem a decent fellow. I hate to stick a needle where I shouldn’t.”

“You seem a decent… lady,” Castiel replied, and cringed when he saw Meg approaching with the needle again. “While you’re at it, why don’t you give me a nice paper cut and pour lemon juice on it?”

“Please understand; I hold you in the highest respect.”

Castiel laughed so hard he didn’t even notice it when Meg started working again. While she traced the feather, they must have quoted the entirety of the movie to each other, and Meg couldn’t help but to feel disappointed when she finished. A guy she could tell her entire story to was one thing, but a guy she could talk Princess Bride with, that was an entirely different animal.

Their next session couldn’t come too soon.


	9. Chapter 9

“Huh… it actually looks pretty good.”

“Can you dance with your back like that, though?”

“I don’t know, I haven’t tried it,” Castiel groaned. “I could find out faster if you guys would just stop looking at it and just put the ointment on it.”

Castiel watched the Winchester brothers on the mirror in front of him. They were staring at each other like Castiel had just asked them to help them bury a dead body. In fact, Castiel believed they wouldn’t have been so apprehensive if that had been the case. Especially if it was the body of someone they disliked, like Lucifer, for example.

“Oh, dear, I do hope they have the other one ready soon,” Lucifer laughed from across the room. “An angel with only one wing? That is just sad.”

“Shut up, Satan,” the brothers said in unison.

They had taken to call him that, because it irritated him to no end. Lucifer huffed and looked away. Sam passed the ointment to Dean.

“Fine,” Dean protested. “But you owe me one.”

Castiel took a deep breath. Meg had given him a roll of plastic wrap and medical tape, along with some cream he was supposed to apply every couple of hours, which was incredibly difficult living alone and having some parts of the tattoo he couldn’t reach. On top of that, she had recommended he didn’t stay in the shower for too long so he would avoid getting it wet. She hadn’t said anything about sleeping on his back, probably because she assumed that it wasn’t needed, but it was really hard to control one’s position when drifting off. As a consequence, Castiel had woken up with burning pain in the middle of the night several times and now he was tired, irritable and taking it out on his friends. That wasn’t fair.

“Thank you,” he told Dean. “I really appreciate this.”

“Yeah, you better,” Dean groaned. “What is that smell? Is that aloe? I’ll get this smell off my fingers.”

Castiel breathed in deeply again and reminded himself he was deeply thankful for Dean’s help. He shuddered when the cold, thick substance finally reached his skin. The irritation disappeared as Dean spread it down his back, and Castiel sighed with relief.

“I can take it from here,” he told Dean when he started rubbing the ointment in his arm as well.

“Nope, you ask me to do it, so I’m doing it all the way,” he said and then stopped. “Did that sound gay?”

“Super gay,” Sam replied from behind his Law books.

“A little bit, yes,” Castiel confirmed.

“Okay, dude, you’re on your own,” Dean said, throwing the ointment at him and running for the bathroom to wash his hands. Sam chuckled behind his book.

“So how’s it treating you?” Sam asked as Castiel carefully covered the feathers on his arm with the ointment.

“It’s fine,” Castiel lied. “I’m beginning to think getting the tattoo is not the worst part. It’s everything that comes afterwards.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Sam laughed and he got to help when he saw Castiel struggling with the wrap. “But it’s gotta be a bit painful, with the needles an all…”

“Not really, no,” Castiel shrugged. “Meg is really good at what she does and she keeps me distracted…”

“Meg?” Lucifer repeated. “Are we talking about the one and only Meg Masters, here?”

He said it with his usual condescending tone, but Castiel thought he heard a bit of interest in him.

“Yes,” he said, narrowing his eyes at Lucifer, almost daring him to say something bad about her. “You know her?”

“Well, of course,” Lucifer shrugged. He got up from the chair where he was idly making fun at them to look at his own face on the mirror, looking for inexistent stubble in his cheeks. “Who do you think was her favorite before you, boys?”

Castiel gritted his teeth, but Sam raised his eyebrows in curiosity.

“Really? You and Meg?”

“Oh, it wasn’t anything like that,” Lucifer finished looking at himself and starting taking his clothes off with indifference. “She asked me to model for her, I happily complied. Then she did this for me,” he said, turning around so they could see the tattoo on his chest, right over his heart: an elaborate Celtic knot in the shape of a seven point star. “It’s the morning star. Get it? Because I’m the Devil.”

He laughed at his own joke with delight, and Castiel clenched his fists. Never in his life had he wanted to beat someone to the ground like at that very moment.

“She did come on to me, eventually,” Lucifer continued. “I had to turn her down, of course, she was too young and her feelings were nothing but a schoolgirl’s crush. And besides, I am a married man, and whatever you think of me, I’m faithful to Lilith,” he said, obviously directing the last comment at Sam, who had rolled his eyes visibly. “But I’m afraid that put a strain in our friendship. She hasn’t talked to me in… must be a couple of years now?” he shrugged, as if he couldn’t be bothered to remember exactly how long had it been. “But anyways, good for you, Castiel. She’s a lot more suited to you than she is to me.”

Like she was some sort of hat or clothing someone could wear and then discard. Castiel took a step forwards, but Sam put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. Lucifer smiled wide, like he had accomplished a very difficult task and he was more than satisfied with the results.

“I’m going to see if Balthazar plans on starting the rehearsals any time soon,” he declared. “See you on the stage, boys.”

He left the dressing room with Castiel’s murderous glare in the back of his head.

“Dude, chill,” Sam said. “You know he’s pathological liar who likes to spread misery, right? Don’t pay attention to him.”

Castiel stared at the door Lucifer had gone out of for a couple more seconds, and then, slowly, he unclenched his fist.

“Yes,” he muttered calmly, although he could still feel the rage boiling in his stomach. "Yes, I know he is."

Sam slowly let go of him. Castiel couldn't promise, however, that he wasn't going to punch him into the ground the next time he spoke about Meg like that.

 

* * *

 

It turned out dancing with your back and your arm covered in plastic wrap wasn't exactly as easy as Castiel had imagined it would be. Raising his arms hurt, arching his back ached, and every time he crossed paths with Lucifer, he could feel his blood boiling with rage.

That part he probably could have controlled better if it wasn't because it took a great deal of concentration not to start screaming in agony, so that might have also affected the way he was moving.

"Stop!" Balthazar ordered, shaking his head. Ash stopped the music right away, and everybody dropped their positions with a groan. "No, you're doing fine, boys, for once. Well, most of you anyway. Cas, darling, go home."

"What? No, wait, I can do it," Castiel complained. "Just give me..."

"Go home and rest and come back when your back isn't seething," Balthazar replied. "Alfie, do you think you can take his place in the formation?"

Alfie dropped the swab he was using to clean the floor.

"Yes!" he exclaimed, and then cleared his throat: "I mean, yes, I-I'll try my best. Thank you so much for the opportunity..."

"Just get up there," Balthazar interrupted his mumbling with a gesture towards the stage.

"Balthazar, this isn't necessary," Castiel tried to argue. “I can handle it…”

“I know you can,” Balthazar interrupted him. “If I didn’t have the absolute certainty that you can learn your routine at double the speed everyone else does, I wouldn’t be sending you home. Rest, take some Advill and call wonderful Meg to give you an extra day to heal.”

Castiel gritted his teeth. There wasn’t much he could answer to that. He was halfway home when he realized… well, he wasn’t sure, but he _thought_ Balthazar might have actually praised him. In his very own, particular way. It had been so sneaky he couldn’t be entirely sure.

He’d never thought about it up until that point, but the truth was Balthazar must have seen lots of dancers come and go in his day and age. He remembered the night Meg and him had talked about the other guys at the club, and she had pointed out things she liked about them that had not much to do with their dancing styles. Now that he thought about it, the only one who was as technically accomplished as him was probably Lucifer (it pained him more than three hundred tattoos to admit it), but Balthazar knew there was something special about all the others as well.

He couldn’t believe he’d never asked that, either to Balthazar or to himself. He’d simply accepted it as a fact of life. Balthazar needed a dancer, he could dance. That had been it. But if being an expert wasn’t as relevant to him, what had made him hired Castiel? What had he seen?

He was going to have to ask him the next time he saw his boss. For now, he was home, and his back was burning again. He took off his shirt, biting his lips to endure the pain and tried to look at in the mirror without turning his back too much. The skin underneath the lines of ink looked red and a bit irritated, and it was hot to the touch. His stomach became a knot. Had he put the ointment on as often as Meg had recommended? Had the fact he’d being dancing and sweating done something to it?

He didn’t have much time to think about it. His cellphone twinkled with Meg’s tone. Yes, he had given her a tone. He was that lost.

_> Hows it going? What time are u coming?_

Castiel tried to move his arm again and figured he was in no condition to make all the trip back to the studio.

_> Bit painful. Maybe we can do this tomorrow?_

That apparently worried her, because she answered fast.

_> Describe it._

_> Better yet, sent me a pic._

Castiel had no way to hold his phone in an angle that would show his back properly, so he just wrote what he could see and feel.

_> Is that common?_

_> Not out of the ordinary. Ok, if u can’t come, I’ll go to u. Give me 20 min._

_> Wait, do you have my address?_

Meg didn’t even bother to answer. So Castiel spent the next twenty minutes panicking around: he washed all the plates piled in the sink, he picked up the towels he usually left in the bathroom floor, he gathered his dirty clothes into a plastic bag (damn, he really should have gone to the laundry room like weeks before) and then proceeded to hide it out of sight.

He also changed the sheets. Not that he was expecting Meg would end up in his sheets or anything like that, she had made it very clear she wanted to wait and he absolutely intended on respecting that. It was just that they contributed to the general mess and he wanted to apartment to be slightly presentable. And smell good. Damn, he didn’t have enough air freshener. And he barely had enough coffee for maybe three cups. He also needed to do some grocery shopping.

Silver lining: he had been so busy putting everything in order he’d totally forgotten about his back.

Exactly twenty three minutes after sending that last message, there were two knocks on the door. Castiel breathed in deeply, ran a hand through his hair to try making it look more presentable (in turn making it even messier) and finally opened the door.

Meg gritted him with her signature red lipstick smile.

“You gave your address to Tom,” she reminded him, like there hadn’t been any interruptions between his question and that answer.

“Right,” Castiel remembered with a nervous chuckle. “Well, come in. Welcome to my… home,” he said, though he cringed at how inadequate the name was. “It’s small.”

“I was going to say cozy, but yeah,” Meg replied, and she kindly left the big bag she was carrying on Castiel’s bed. “Okay, show it to me.”

Maybe because his mind had been in the gutter for a while or maybe because he couldn’t help but to notice the movement of Meg’s legs in her stripped stockings, the point was that Castiel was a little slow to react to that.

“I’m sorry, show you…?”

“The tat,” Meg reminded him with a crooked eyebrow.

“Oh… yes, of course.”

Once his shirt was off, Meg removed the plastic wrap with expert fingers and hummed a little to herself.

“It doesn’t look infected, but if you get a fever, you should call me right away,” she said. “On the other hand, seems you just have sensitive skin. I brought you another ointment.”

“You really didn’t have to…”

“Yes, I did,” she caught him off. “You’re my living canvass. I’m supposed to take care of you.”

Castiel wasn’t sure if he should feel flattered or not at that comment, but he thanked her anyway. Meg laughed again and dragged the chair close to the bed.

“Sit down,” she ordered, as she flailed down on the bed. “With your back to me, Cas.”

“Sorry,” Castiel muttered obeying immediately. “I’m just… a bit of a mess.”

He didn’t want to say it was because her presence there had completely thrown him off, but Meg seemed to catch the implication on his voice.

“Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“No!” Castiel looked over his shoulder and tried not to grimace at the pain of doing that. “No, of course, I… just wasn’t ready…”

Meg was clearly confused. She tilted her head so her hoop earring was almost grazed her shoulder.

“If you didn’t want me to come here, you should have just said so.”

“It’s not that,” Castiel sighed deeply and turned his head away. He wondered why it was a lot easier to put his thoughts in order and speak when he wasn’t looking directly at her. “I… I’m just a little confused, that’s all. You said you wanted to keep it slow and…”

“Cas, this is a professional visit,” she interrupted him. She unzipped her bag and Castiel looked over: she had brought gloves, a machine that was a little smaller than the one she had at the studio, and a stencil she unfolded to show him it was the other wing. “You said you wanted this done soon, so… wait, you thought this was what? A booty call?”

She sounded like she was barely containing her laughter.

Castiel closed his eyes for a moment, feeling stupid for thinking Meg meant anything other than what she’d already told him and relieved at the same time that she wasn’t storming out in rage for him assuming that. Because, if he was being honest with himself… well, he had changed the sheets.

“Of course not,” he said, looking away, hopefully fast enough that Meg wouldn’t notice his blushing face.

She still burst into laughter anyway, and he figured he deserved that.

“Oh, don’t be disappointed,” she said, and to Castiel’s surprise, she was able to pull his chair closer to the bed with just her foot. He was launched backwards and stopped by crashing into her chest. He shuddered as she put her lips close to his ear: “There’ll be plenty of time for that.”

Before Castiel could collect himself, she started rubbing his back, and for a second, he thought it just felt good because it was her fingers, tracing patterns on his skin, her breathing close to the back of his head. Then he kicked himself awake and realized she was just using a different ointment to help me him through the pain.

“That’s… that feels good,” he commented, trying to bring up a topic of conversation to break the weird mood that had fallen between them. “What is it?”

“Just scentless lotion,” she said, calmly. She had stopped laughing and now she had the same casual tone she had use to talk to him the day before. “Helps to keep it clean. Now, are you up for starting with the other wing or would you rather I leave you alone now?”

“I would never rather you leave,” he said, and immediately wanted to kick himself. There he went again, saying things that probably make him sound really weird and desperate. “I mean…”

“Cas, you really need to cut it out with those things,” she said. “I’m going to start believing them.”

It was sad that she would think he was only saying those things to get something out of her. It was also sad he couldn’t convince her of his utmost sincerity in saying them.

“It’s… sorry,” he sighed. “I just can’t seem to get the foot out of my mouth when talking to you. Yes, I would prefer to start with the other wing now.”

He didn’t dare to look behind him again.

“Okay,” Meg sighed. “Extend your arm.”

“Do you do this often?” Castiel asked, again trying to dissipate the awkwardness. “Home visits, I mean.”

“Well, Tom and I used to do it all the time before we got the money to buy the studio,” she told him while she pressed the stencil on him. “We used to spread our business cards around the neighborhood… would you believe it if I told you the first time I walked into the Heaven and Hell was strictly for business reasons?”

She was joking again, and Castiel smiled to himself hearing it.

“I’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt,” he said, and Meg chuckled while she prepared her instruments. “How long ago are we talking about?” he kept asking, because he really enjoyed hearing Meg speak, and the image of this sarcastic, smart, artistic girl that came out of what she told him.

“Probably four, five years ago,” she calculated, leaning down next to Castiel’s night-table to plug in the little machine. “It was about the time I dropped out of college. You mind if I take off my shoes?”

“Not at all.”

Meg kicked them off and sat on the lotus position.

“Look ahead and stay still now,” she instructed him. “You know the drill.”

Castiel obeyed while doing some math on his head. He had thought Meg was twenty three or twenty four, like him. That meant she had started going to the club when she couldn’t have been older than eighteen or nineteen. Unless the policies had changed in that time, Castiel was pretty certain the youngest they allowed in was twenty-one years old.

“How did they even let you in?”

“The magic of fake IDs, baby,” Meg replied with a chuckle. “You would have no idea how many doors they open for you and how everybody wants to be your friend because you’re the one who can get the booze. It’s so weird when you finally turn of age and you can just walk into a bar without anyone questioning if you should be there. Hold still.”

Castiel suppressed the little jump when the needle touched his skin, but maybe because he had felt it before, or maybe because of the irritation on the other half of his back, it wasn’t as bad as the first time.

“I wouldn’t know,” he replied. “I never had a fake ID.”

“And you never succumbed to the dreaded peer pressure that would lead you to a life to underage drinking?” Meg asked, in an overtly-dramatic tone of voice.

“Well, no,” Castiel laughed. “I never had many friends growing up.”

“Why not?”

“I was… a bit socially awkward,” Castiel confessed. “I come from a family of workaholics… and literal alcoholics, in my dad’s case. So growing up I was taught that if I didn’t dedicate myself to what I wanted to achieve… ouch!”

She had moved on from Castiel’s shoulder to his arm without warning and the needle sticking into the more fleshy part had surprised him.

“Sorry,” Meg said, rubbing a paper towel over the remaining ink. “Go on.”

“Well, it was kind of hard to find another teenager who was interested in ballet at school, so I was an outcast,” he said. “There was another boy, Raphael, at my dancing academy, but he was older and there always was this… kind of rivalry between the two of us for who could get the main roles, so we didn’t exactly get along. The other dancers usually took his side because they had known him longer, so I couldn’t make friends with them either.”

“Oh, and what happened to him?”

“We grew out of it after he graduated,” Castiel continued. “Then he… she had a sex change operation and now she’s trying to become the first world famous transgendered ballerina in California.”

“Woah, she dreams big, huh?” Meg chuckled.

“Yes, I always looked up to hi… her, for her confidence,” Castiel admitted. “We still chat on Facebook sometimes.”

Meg chuckled again and made a pause to recharge the ink.

“It changed when I grew up and started training at the Conservatory,” Castiel continued. “I broke a little from my comfort zone, learned new styles, got interested in theater as well. Most of the people there did have the same interests I did, so I clicked with them faster. And there was Daphne…”

“Aha,” Meg said, triumphant, like she had discovered something very interesting about Castiel. “Let me guess: you two had a passionate yet chaste young romance that ended because of her parents’ opposition.”

“Well, it… wasn’t exactly chaste,” Castiel admitted, and once again he was glad Meg couldn’t see his face reddening furiously. “And it ended because I was coming here to try out for the M. O. L., and Daphne didn’t want to go so far away from home. We broke up amiably, and now she’s dating a guy from her church.”

Meg clicked her tongue.

“I like my version better,” she commented, as she slid the needle to Castiel’s lower back.

“Well, if it makes it more interesting, her parents did oppose me,” Castiel said. “They thought I was an airheaded, immature boy that would take their daughter away and force her to live in poverty while I tried to fulfill my starving artist’s dream.”

“Woah, they definitely didn’t know you very well,” Meg said.

“No, they didn’t bother too,” he agreed. “If they had, they’d have known that even if Daphne had wanted to come along, I wouldn’t have let her. This was a risk I was taking on my own.”

 “Do you regret it?” Meg asked. “Leaving your girl behind, coming to live here all on your own…”

“Oh, no, not at all,” Castiel shook his head. “I’m not going to say it’s been a piece of cake, but… I’m glad I did.”

The buzzing of the needle stopped and Castiel thought the pause between the silence and the moment the paper towel removed the excess ink was a little longer than usual. Hesitantly, as if she wasn’t sure how he was going to take it, Meg whispered:

“I’m glad you did, too.”


	10. Chapter 10

The wings looked spectacular. It may have been vain on his part but he couldn’t stop staring at them in the little mirror that Meg had given him so he could stand in front of his own mirror to see them. He was simply fascinated by their soft forms and the details Meg had added, like a single, solitary feather floating down his back and how the details made them look like they were springing out of his skin. It hurt a little to raise his arms, but he did just to see how they looked “extended” and he was amazed by the way she had managed to follow the curves of his arms to make them look as they had always been part of his body.

“They’re going to look much better once they’re healed and shaded,” Meg commented, and Castiel had the impression she was trying to convince herself. “Right now it’s just an outline, but once they’re done…”

“Meg,” Castiel interrupted her. “They’re beautiful. I love them.”

It was Meg’s turn to have her cheeks turning red, but of course she shrugged and remained absolutely cool about it.

“Well, I guess you have to, or this would be really awkward for the two of us,” she commented, taking out a little jewelry box from her bag.

“What’s that?” Castiel asked, as she placed in front of her over the bed covers and opened it.

“The best analgesic ever,” she replied, taking out a pinch of some sort of green herb and placing it in a small square of paper.

Castiel wasn’t sure what was going until a sweet, strange smell reached his nose.

“Oh,” he said, as Meg rolled the blunt with expert fingers. “Oh, I don’t really…”

“What? None of your theater friends smoked?” she asked, almost like she couldn’t believe it. “At all? Not a single joint, ever? I find it hard to believe.”

Castiel scratched the back of his neck, a little nervous. It was true that several of his friends often talked about how smoking marihuana made them feel more artistic and open, and some had epiphanies and wrote entire plays while high, musical numbers and choreographies included. However…

“I’ve never tried it.”

“Try it now, then,” Meg shrugged, holding the blunt between her fingers as an offer. “It’s hard to get completely stoned he first time, but I promise it’ll help with the pain while you’re healing.”

Castiel still hesitated. He’d always avoided excesses and it had been deeply ingrained in him that doing drugs of any kind was big no-no. On the other, his father got drunk every other night, so he wasn’t the best at leading by example. And marihuana was supposed to be a very mild drug, not even that dangerous, and if Meg said it would help with the pain, then maybe just trying a little wouldn’t hurt him.

“Okay,” kneeling on the bed in front of her. “Uhm, how do I…?”

“First let me turn it on,” Meg laughed, and took out a little lighter from the pocket of her dress. “Then just do what I do.”

She held the little flame to the cigarette and delicately put it between her lips. Castiel was so fascinated by the shape of her mouth around it he completely missed out what she did and he could only stare in bafflement when she extended the joint to him. He grabbed it a bit too close to the burning tip and almost dropped it while trying to put it on his mouth.

“Easy, now,” Meg instructed. “Take a small breath…”

Castiel tried to, but the minute the smoke hit his throat, his entire body convulsed, reclaiming the oxygen he was denying to it. He coughed desperately while hitting his chest with a closed fist, trying to force his nose to inhale instead of gasping with his mouth, his eyes becoming watery and his hand shaking so hard he was about to drop the blunt again.

“Calm down, it’s okay,” Meg said over his coughing. Castiel blinked to focus his vision and saw her looking for something inside her apparently infinite bag. “It’s okay, Cas. Here, drink this,” she added, handing him a bottle of water and taking the joint off of his fingers. “Told you to take it easy.”

Castiel sipped very slowly, the cool water helping his throat, but not the lungs that seemed to have caught on fire. His face was also incredibly hot, though for different reasons.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” he coughed again.

“Hey, it’s fine,” Meg laughed. “Takes some getting used to.”

She took a long, slow puff, as if to illustrate her point, and when she exhaled, a bit of the smoke went straight to Castiel’s face. His eyes grew irritated, but at least he didn’t choke again.

“Right,” he mumbled, when Meg offered it to him again. “I think that’s enough or me.”

“Giving up already?” she asked, crooking an eyebrow. Castiel must have looked annoyed, because she laughed and shook her head. “Okay, as you wish. At least hold it for me while I bandage you up.”

He couldn’t say no to that. He sat with her back to her again, the smoke from the blunt ascending in slow spirals towards his face.

“I don’t understand what’s the big deal about this,” Castiel commented while Meg extended the plastic wrap on his new pair of wings. He cringed at the slightest of grazes. “Are you sure it’s going to help?”

“Oh, yeah,” she guaranteed. “But you need to give it a bit more of a try than that if you want it to work.”

Castiel eyed the blunt with suspicion, but oh, well, he really didn’t have much more to lose. He’d already made himself a fool in front of Meg anyway. The second time he was a bit more prepared: he fought against the impulse of coughing by forcing himself to breathe in through his nose and then breathing out very slowly. The smoke felt heavy and hot over his tongue.

“There you go,” Meg congratulated him. She passed a hand over his shoulder and took the blunt from him. “You’re going to get the hang of it.”

“I don’t feel different…” Castiel commented, but then he stopped to giggle because there was a perfect smoke ring floating right above his head. He didn’t know why it was funny, he’d seen Balthazar do it plenty of times, but there was something hilarious about that circle slowly disintegrating in the air.

“Ugh, Ruby gave me the strong stuff,” Meg commented. She still had a hand hanging over his shoulder and she leaned in closer, her face practically buried in the back of Castiel’s head. “I’m really sorry about this.”

“Why?” Castiel asked, blinking over his shoulder. “You were right. My back doesn’t even hurt anymore.”

“You sure?”

“Yes,” Castiel assured her. “I’m perfectly fine.”

“Okay,” Meg muttered and passed him the blunt again. “Just, uh… be careful with it.”

This time it didn’t even itch in his throat. He felt strangely light, like all the weight of his muscles had disappeared and he could float and fly, like a breeze. Like the wind.

“How are you handling it, Clarence?” Meg asked.

Castiel moved on the bed and leaned against the wall so he could look at her face. Her tattoos were doing that thing again where they started moving on her skin, as if they were alive. Or maybe he dreamt they did those things and he was dreaming right now. The three little black stars at the edge of her hair line, for example, were glimmering and turning, and if this was a dream, maybe Meg wouldn’t mind if he tried to touch them.

“You’re very pretty,” he told her. He placed his fingertips over the little stars and felt them vibrating and still turning underneath them. Or maybe it was Meg’s blood rushing through her veins, her life pulsating and vibrating, making her eyes bigger and brighter and her lips fuller. “You’re _so_ beautiful,” he corrected himself, because ‘pretty’ didn’t even begin to cover it.

Meg chuckled and swiftly took the blunt from his fingers.

“I think you’ve had enough…”

“What are they?” Castiel asked, still fascinated by her stars. “What are supposed to…? Why did you get them?”

He wasn’t even sure what he was trying to ask, he just wanted her to keep speaking, because with every word she pronounced, a puff of fragrant black smoke came from her lips. They smell like citrus and freshly cut grass, or maybe that was her perfume. In any case, Castiel inched closer still, trying to take in as much as he could. Meg put her elbow on his shoulder and started running her fingers through his hair. It was the most soothing gesture Castiel had received in a while.

“Orion’s Belt,” she explained. “It’s always been one of my favorite myths. It’s actually very sad. See, the goddess Artemis was in love with him, but her brother was jealous. So he challenged her to shoot a faraway animal with her bow. Artemis took her bow and hit the mark, but when she approached it, she realized it wasn’t animal but Orion she had killed.”

“Her brother was a jerk,” Castiel commented.

“Oh, yeah,” Meg laughed. “There was even a chick that turned into a tree so she wouldn’t have to speak to him again. Anyway, Artemis was so broken-hearted she turned Orion into stars and placed them in the sky.”

She took another puff of the half-consumed blunt.

“Well, that’s the version I like the most anyway.”

“You like Greek mythology?”

“I like all of mythology,” she nodded. “But yeah, Greek is the best one. We had to take a course in college about Greek and Christian imagery in art, and I just really enjoyed it. I like learning things.”

Castiel vowed to remember that later. Hell, he really hoped he remembered all of it: the way Meg’s finger messed his hair, the warmth of her thigh against his, the way her lips curved into that playful smirk.

“I also like stars and constellations and shit like that,” she added with a shrug, like her interests weren’t even that relevant or original.

“That’s why you painted your room with them,” Castiel remembered.

“Well, yeah,” she giggled. “Forgot you’d been there.”

“I didn’t,” Castiel said. And a part of him, the part that wasn’t all smoked up and happy, realized that was yet another weird thing for him to say, but he couldn’t bring himself to care much. “I think about it often. It was very amazing…”

“That’s not even… what even was that? That was terrible,” Meg laughed, and hid her face on Castiel’s neck. “Ugh, I’m going to kill Ruby. I didn’t mean to get us this high.”

“It’s fine,” Castiel repeated. “I feel like… I feel…”

He couldn’t say how he felt. His words weren’t nearly as elegant and beautiful as Meg’s, so instead stumbling with his tongue again, Castiel decided it would be easier to just show her.

He stood up (regretting the loss of warmth and contact, but this was something it simply had to be done) and connected his phone to the speakers. He had to fumble with it for a moment, because the little letters in front of him kept spiraling crazy, but he finally found a song he liked and put it on. The sweet chords of a guitar invaded the air as Castiel extended her hand towards Meg.

_Got a pinch of tobacco in my pocket_

_I'm not gonna roll it, no, I'm not gonna smoke it_

_Til we're staring at the stars and the rockets_

_Twinkling in the silvery night…_

There was no much space for them to dance between the bed and the kitchen, and the floor was too cold for their feet, but that only met he got to hold her closer to his chest and turn around faster while she laughed and the song wrap around them like a blanket to keep them apart for the world.

The room was darkened because the night had replaced the grey day outside and Castiel had forgotten to turn on the light. But he knew exactly where all his things was, so it wasn’t hard to lasso an arm around Meg’s waist and intertwined the fingers of his free hand with her. The waltz they danced was clumsy and formless, and Mrs. Barnes, his dance teacher, would have ripped her own eyes seeing.

_… Two sips of whiskey in the flask but I'm not gonna drink 'em_

_I swear I'll make it last_

_Til we're drinking out of the same glass again…_

But that didn’t matter as much as Meg’s breath on his neck. She had buried her face against the crook of his neck and Castiel wondered if perhaps, when she moved away, there’d be a ghost impression of Orion’s Belt on his skin. The swayed a little, and then he spun them around. Meg giggled happily.

“This is very unprofessional of me,” she commented.

“No more unprofessional than me leaving the club with a client,” Castiel reminded her. “But I think we’re way past that stage.”

“True,” she laughed again. She seemed to laugh a lot more when she was high and care a lot less about Castiel saying the wrong thing. “Speaking of which, you’re going to need to change your name.”

“Oh?” Castiel asked. “And why is that?”

“Well, you just can’t keep calling yourself Jimmy,” she muttered. “Have you ever heard of a winged guy named Jimmy?”

“What’s wrong with it?” Castiel protested.

“It never fit you.”

“It’s my middle name!”

_… and though you will not wait for me_

_I’ll wait for you, oh, I’ll wait for you…_

“You need something more epic,” Meg insisted. “Is ‘Angel’ taken?”

“No, but with Balthazar’s plans… I’m not supposed to talk about them,” Castiel remembered. “How about Clarence?”

Meg lifted her head and stood up in the tip of her toes so her face would be closer to his.

“No, that’s what I call you,” she said, staring directly at his eyes, like it was of the utmost importance that he understood that. “And I don’t want anybody else calling you that.”

They were slowing down almost to a halt as the music kept going:

_A heartbroken handshake_

_I’ll take with me wherever I go…_

Suddenly, Castiel was very aware of Meg’s hands around his neck, and his on her lower back, and how close their noses were to each other.

_And three words on the tip of my tongue_

_Not to be spoken or sung_

_Or whispered to anyone…_

“Is this…?”

“Cas, I’m going to need to stop thinking for one entire minute,” she interrupted him. “Can you do that?”

“I can… try,” Castiel promised, vaguely.

Meg pushed his head down towards her. There was a second in between all the air escaping Castiel’s lungs and his lips crashing against hers.

And Castiel found out it was perfectly possible to stop thinking for an entire minute.

… _Til we're staring at the stars and the rockets_

_Twinkling in the silvery night._

 

* * *

He woke up on his stomach, with his mouth dry and his stomach rumbling like he had just walked miles and miles through a dessert without having a single drop of water or bite of food. The pale morning light was coming in through his window pane, announcing it’d be another grey, cold day, as if they hadn’t had enough of those already. With a groan, Castiel opened his eyes to find his apartment as empty and lonely as the day before.

Well, except for the bottle of water with a little adhesive note that said “Drink Me” and two chocolate bars with the note “Eat Me” over his night table.

“Oh, thank God,” Castiel muttered, reaching out for the bottle.

He had drunk at least half of its content before taking a look around. He wasn’t really surprised to see Meg and her bag of apparently infinite surprises were gone. He guessed it was fair that she had slipped away while he was sleeping this time, but he still found his cellphone and put it to charge to send her a text.

> _Got home ok_ , said the message from three hours before that blinked on his screen. _Drink lots of water and eat well to get rid of those munchies. Text me at noon._

She’d thought of everything, even the question Castiel had immediately thought to ask. He put the cellphone down and drank the rest of the water in one gulp.

The night before had been… nice. Slow. They hadn’t, as some may put it, ‘gone all the way’, but she had ended lying back on his bed, between his arms, almost the way he’d dreamed it. They had made out lazily while another song from Passenger filled the air and Meg had accused him of being a sap and a hipster, whatever that might mean. But she had laughed a lot, and she had pet his hair some more while he quietly fell asleep on her shoulder, so he couldn’t bring himself to care.

His back wasn’t hurting, or maybe that was because Castiel was still a little high, although on some very different drug. He stood up to dress himself up and stopped in front of the mirror to check out his wings again. They were as marvelous as they had been the day before. They even looked a bit less red underneath the plastic wrap, and even though he understood Meg wanted to shade them to make them more realistic, to him they were already wonderful enough. He still couldn’t believe that was going to be a permanent part of him now.

While he was admiring them, he noticed something on his cheek, a stain of some kind. Upon further inspection, he realized that it was the mark of a perfectly shaped kiss in red lipstick.

He would have had that tattooed as well, if he could have. Dammit. Balthazar had been right. He was smitten beyond all hope.

Speaking of which, he probably should send Balthazar a message. It was still his job, after all. He had dropped resumes and gone to a couple of interviews for possible day jobs, but he hadn’t heard back from any of them still. That meant lately he had been living and getting tattoos on Balthazar’s generosity alone, so he owed him to at least report himself every day and ask if he was needed at the club.

But first, food.

He found some crackers in his cabinet and basically stuffed half of the package in his mouth before he even started chewing properly. Oh, God, he was not suited to be a regular pot smoker. Not that it had been bad or anything, and it definitely wasn’t as bad like the morning after his friends had pressured him into doing tequila shots, but he couldn’t munch down everything in his kitchen, at least not while he was still technically in the starving artist category.

He still left for the bakery around the street because it was too early in the morning to chug down two bars of chocolate for breakfast, no matter how much his stomach was demanding him to. He was going to make himself some tea instead, and buy a blueberry muffin. Perhaps two.

Balthazar answered him while he was still chewing on his second muffin.

_> Come if you will. I’d love to see them._

 

* * *

 

“Dude, that _is_ pretty amazing.”

Castiel had meant to only show them to Balthazar, because he had offered to pay for them after all, but before he knew it, everybody (except Lucifer, who was mercifully absent that day) had gathered around to look at his back.

He didn’t mind. Meg had done an excellent work and it should be admired.

“They’re very… detailed,” Gadreel commented, with his usual sparingness for words.

“Did it hurt?” asked Alfie.

“Not too much,” Castiel said, completely disregarding how he barely could move the day before.

“Looks sexy,” Dean said, before turning to Sam. “We should get tattoos too.”

“You hate needles,” Sam reminded him.

“I got a tattoo,” Ash commented. “But I can’t show it ‘cause I’m not paid to take off my clothes like you guys.”

“That’s ‘cause nobody wants to see your ass anyway, Ash,” Rudy replied.

All the dancers erupted in laughter at the thought.

“Yes, yes, that’s all fine and well,” Balthazar interrupted them. “I’m just thinking of the beating my wallet’s going to take once wonderful Meg decides to charge me for this.”

Castiel’s smile disappeared from his face.

“Balthazar, if it’s too expensive…”

“I’m pulling your leg, darling,” Balthazar replied, rolling his eyes. “I said I’d pay for it and I will. And of course, they look amazing on you. Girls will fawn all over. Just don’t let them know you’ve got a girlfriend, eh? Kills the illusion.”

He patted him on the shoulder, as the other guys began cracking up again. Castiel stared at them dumbfounded. How had he known…? Michael took pity on him and explained between chuckles:

“It’s literally written in your face.”

Only them Castiel realized that he had forgotten to clean up the lipstick stain on his cheek. He must have looked pretty stupid, because now everybody was roaring with laughter at his cluelessness.

“It’s fine, darling, it’s allowed,” Balthazar assured him. “Just make sure she doesn’t come around too often and takes up all your private dances.”

“Duly noted,” Castiel replied, glancing down at his shoes in shame. “Also, would there be any problem if I changed my stage name?”

Balthazar’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

“Not at all,” he replied. “What you have in mind.”

Castiel had winged men and Greek mythology in mind, but above everything, he had Meg in mind.

“Icarus.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Meg and Castiel are dancing to in this chapter is Patient Love by Passenger.


	11. Chapter 11

The week leading up to Valentine’s Day and their “big event” was nothing short of chaotic. Balthazar had finally come around deciding what the routines should be, but now he was hell-bent on getting the guys to perfect them. The result was him looking even more haggard than before and long, exhausting hours all gathered up inside the club, lots of arguments and no less than two broken toes.

"I guess that won't show inside the boots," Balthazar sighed when Michael showed up with a bandage around his toe the following day.

"I can still spin on the pole," Michael shrugged. "Won't be a problem."

Balthazar looked at him like he thought there definitely would be a problem, but didn't say a word. He was a lot more focused on getting Alfie to get the steps right.

"Come on, boy, since you've convinced me to let you dance, you might as well throw yourself into it," he told him time and again. "Show me it's going to be worth getting arrested because you're still a teen."

"I'm twenty-one..."

"And I'm the Queen of England," Balthazar snapped. "From the top."

Alfie tried, he really did. But it was clear (to Castiel, at least, who watched for that stuff with a clinical eye) that he hadn’t dance before in a professional setting, at least, and no matter how much he tried, he wasn’t going to get on the other guys’ level any time soon.

Also, there was that moment he heard him sobbing in the bathroom. He had walked in to give himself one last look in the mirror before his tattoo session with Meg (and brush his teeth because… well, it had become usual for her to greet him with a kiss) when he heard the quiet, suffocated cries coming from one of the stalls.

“Uh… hello?” he called. Had somebody else broken a toe? That would have been a disaster, he couldn’t imagine Balthazar taking that in stride.

“Oh… h-hi, Cas,” Alfie mumbled from inside. “Uh… sorry, I just, I… it’s been a long day. Don’t worry about me.”

Of course, prompting him not to worry about a person was a guaranteed way to get Castiel to worry.

“Are you alight?” Castiel insisted in asking. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Well, you could age me up two years and convince my dad to let me go to Juilliard,” Alfie said. Castiel supposed he was trying to joke about it, but the sound of him trying to repress the tears didn’t really help. “Sorry, I don’t want to… you probably don’t want to hear about this. Just go. I’ll be okay.”

Castiel stayed right where he was, because he wasn’t sure walking away on a kid in these circumstances was the best idea.

“Do you want to go to Juilliard? That’s a very noble dream,” he told him. “I’m trying out for the Men of Letters Academy…”

The door of the bathroom stall swung open and he could see Alfie sitting on the toilet. His face was red and his eyes puffy, but he was staring at Castiel with the most confusion he had seen on anybody’s face, ever. And Castiel was a person who confused a lot of people.

“Are you for real?” he asked, skeptic. “They have an even lower acceptance rate than Juilliard.”

“I am aware of that,” Castiel said. “Painfully so. I was rejected last year.”

“And you’re just going to try again?” Alfie asked. Castiel nodded, because that was his plan after all. “You’re even crazier than I am.”

Castiel could accept that. Especially because it apparently made Alfie feel much better about himself: he was now stretching his legs like he was considering coming out of the stall and facing the world again. So Castiel kept asking:

“When did you apply?”

“I didn’t,” Alfie said, grabbing a piece of toilet paper and rubbing his face to get rid of the traces of tears. “My dad wanted me to study Finances, so he said that if I wanted to go to any other school, I would have to pay for it myself. I don’t want to apply until I have the money for it.”

That sounded very logical. Castiel would have definitely thought the same way if Chuck had denied him the money he needed for the application fee: he would have worked and saved up to pay for it himself. Maybe artists were prouder than people realized. Or maybe that was a trait he shared with Alfie. He stretched his hand to him and helped him stand up.

“Did you not study dance growing up?” Castiel asked him. “Because if you want, I can give you a few tips…”

“That’s not the issue,” Alfie blew into the piece of toilet paper and threw it in the bin. “I mean, it is an issue. I’m not that good of a dancer and it shows. But I never meant to study dancing. I want to sing.”

“Singing?”

“Yeah, I know, it’s stupid,” Alfie admitted, casting his eyes down. It was the poster look for someone who had been told his dream was stupid many times, by very different people. Castiel knew that look all too well.

“I don’t think it is,” he replied. Alfie thanked him with a half-hearted smile, but he was clearly not convinced. “Maybe you should tell that to Balthazar. He has a keen eye when it comes to finding talent in everybody.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Alfie scratched his neck. “Uh… thanks.”

“You’re very welcome,” Castiel said. He still stood around awkwardly, because he felt he had to say something else or at least to wait until Alfie had come out of the stall. “I have my last tattoo session today,” he told him, impulsively. “If you want to come along…”

“I thought you were dating your tattoo,” Alfie said. “I mean, it’s not that I don’t appreciate it, but I wouldn’t want to crash on that…”

‘Dating’ was a strong word for what they were doing. They had, in fact, been on exactly one date that had been cruelly interrupted by Balthazar, and then they had hanged out and then they had made out. And now they usually made out a little more when Meg was done shading some of his feathers until Tom shouted at Meg that was the reason the tattoo wasn’t getting finished.

She usually replied with a middle finger up to her brother, a giggle and a reminder to Castiel he should probably go home because it was getting late. And he was trying to respect her times and giving her space, and all that… but dammit, he just wished he could tell for certain to anyone he asked that, yes, they were dating, and yes, it was an exclusive agreement.

“She won’t mind,” he said, instead of explaining Alfie all the intricacies of their relationship. “Maybe we can go for drinks afterwards or something. If you’re up for that. Of course, _you_ wouldn’t be drinking, since that wouldn’t be legal.”

Finally, something resembling a smile appeared on Alfie’s face and he stepped out of the stall.

“I’m fine,” he said. “But thanks for the offer. Maybe another time.”

Castiel nodded and turned around to leave, but at the last second, he thought of something he could say and do for Alfie.

“If you ever need someone to talk to, don’t hesitate to come to me,” he told him. “I know how lonely it can get.”

Alfie’s little smile became a little wider.

“I really appreciate that.”

When Castiel came out of the bathroom, Ash was standing atop the bar counter, reciting a list of nearby dancing clubs and other places the guys could haunt to give away cards and special invitations to the ladies they met there.

“Trust me, it worked on Magic Mike,” he said at the interrogating looks of the dancers while he handed out piles of little cards. “Girls will be expecting that. Try find some who are in groups, so the assistance will get even bigger…”

"I'm not sure about this," Castiel said, looking at the cards in his hand with apprehension.

"Come on, Cas, Valentine's Day is the best day to talk to girls," Dean commented. "This week, you don't have to be Mr. Right, you just have to be Mr. Right Now. And if you promise to take her to a place where there a lot more of Mr. Rights…"

"Woah, stay classy, Dean," Sam rolled his eyes.

“I’m not very… good at approaching strangers,” Castiel explained.

“Sorry, Cas, everybody has to do their part…”

“Hey, if you don’t want to do it, I don’t mind taking your load,” Dean said, snatching the cards from Castiel hands a little too gleefully. “I bet you twenty dollars I can fill this whole place all by myself.”

“Have at it,” Castiel shrugged. “I’m late.”

He ignored the whistles and the “You dog!” shouts that followed him to the door. He was too busy thinking that night was the last he spent as Meg’s client.

 

* * *

 

Tom opened the door for him when he arrived, which was… disappointing. And it must have shown in Castiel’s face, because Tom rolled his eyes at him.

“Don’t look so sad,” he told him. “I’m on my way out.”

He dangled his keys and left, leaving Castiel stranded in the middle of the darkened studio.

“Uh… Meg?” he called, unsure. He took a step forwards just as g came running down the stairs, the skirt of her dress tangling around her legs because of how fast she moved.

“That asshole!” she muttered. “I told him to give me a shout when you got here.”

“Well, I…” Castiel started, but she cut him off by throwing her arm around his neck and pulling him down for a kiss. Castiel closed his eyes and breathed in her perfume while squeezing her tight against him. It was amazing how all the tension escaped his body when he was with her: there was nothing else, no grand re-openings looming closer, no friends with unspeakable diseases or existential crisis, no savings waning dangerously and a bunch of managers who couldn’t be bothered to call him back.

Just her, her red lip-gloss and her thing fingers running through his hair.

After a while, Meg broke away with a smile.

“Hi,” she said, with a wink.

“Hello,” he replied. “I’m happy to see you, too.”

Meg laughed and squeezed his bicep before turning around and going towards the screen.

“How was work?”

“It was… fun,” he said, shrugging. “I think we’ve almost managed to get it right.”

It had also been fun because Lucifer hadn’t been there that day. He didn’t mention that. In fact, he went out of his way to avoid mentioning him to her. He still remembered how she’d run away when Lucifer had come on the stage, how upset she had been. Too upset for their story to have been just an unrequited crush. He wanted to hear her side of the story as well, but for all the things they talked about during their sessions, he wasn’t sure if she was ready to answer him.

“I just need to check a couple of details,” Meg said as he removed his jacket and his shirt and hanged them from their usual place. “And then we can remove the wrap, I think.”

“You think, Penelope?” he teased her and earned a little pinch on his lower back. It had become a running joke between them that Meg was an insufferable perfectionist, and that by this point she was stalling. Also, Castiel was ever so glad he dusted off his Greek mythology knowledge.

“Stay still,” she instructed him. “Turn to the left. Now to the right. Ugh, I hate this light,” she ended groaning. “Let’s go upstairs.”

“I… okay,” Castiel said, baffled by the suddenness of her pulling from his hand towards the stair. He didn’t even have time to grab his shirt to put it back on when they were finished. The Masters were definitely acting very strange that night.

Meg made him stand underneath the lamp, as her fingers traced the feathers and the shading. It was a thing she did: she stepped away to look at the whole picture, then close to look at the details, then far again. Castiel just waited patiently while she did, but instead of losing the warmth of her fingertips this time, he felt her breath between his shoulder blades.

“Uh… Meg?” he asked, uncertain. “What are you…?”

His thoughts trailed off, because now her breasts were against his back and her fingers were toying with the waistband of his jeans.

“Will you judge me if I tell you I’m tired of being Penelope?” she whispered in his ear, sending a shiver down his back.

And suddenly, it became very clear what Tom leaving and Meg not letting him gab his shirt had to do with one another.

“No,” he sighed. “Of course not.”

“Good,” she said, right before placing a kiss on his shoulder. “Then your tat is done.”

That was all he needed to hear. He turned around and picked Meg up a few inches above the floor as she furiously clashed her mouth against his. This was nothing like the kisses they had shared before. It was hungry and urgent, and oh, Go, Castiel wanted to take it slow, to enjoy it, but he was pushing her against the wall and her fingers were toying with the buttons of his jean…

“Meg,” he groaned.

“Shh, it’s okay, Clarence,” she said. “We have all night.”

Castiel stopped altogether. He’d just had a much more interesting idea.

“Oh,” he said. “In that case…”

“What are you doing?” she giggled as he slipped his hands up her dress and grabbed the side of her panties. “Cas…”

Castiel fell to his knees as he slipped her underwear down. She laughed again when he looked up. Her red lip-gloss, which up until that point he had honestly believed had some sort of magical property, was smeared a little, and Castiel imagined a good part of it was in his face now.

“Are you for real?” she asked.

Castiel was about to prop one of her legs up in his shoulder, but he froze.

“Is this… not okay?”

“Angel, it’s more than okay,” Meg chuckled. “I just can’t believe you’re so damn perfect.”

“I don’t want you to regret this,” Castiel explained.

“Trust me,” Meg leaned over and grabbed a handful of his hair. “I won’t.”

She pushed him gently towards her, but Castiel slowed down to leave a trail of kisses on the inside of her thigh. Meg groaned impatiently, but the sound became a moan when Castiel’s lips finally reached her pussy.

"Oh, now we're talking," she muttered. "Clarence..."

Castiel placed his hands on her hips to hold her still against the wall and gave a tentative kiss on the flesh against his lips. The salty taste of Meg's juices invaded his mouth, and left him overwhelmed for a second, unsure how to go on. He had done this before, a couple of times, but Daphne had always been timid about requesting it and perhaps he wasn't that good at it and...

Meg sank her fingernails on his scalp, insistent and eager.

"Come on, Cas," she urged him, in a raspy whisper. "No one likes a tease."

Castiel took a deep breath (her scent was spicy and strong, and he felt his cock twitching in response to it) and stopped hesitating. He moved his tongue up and swirled it around her clit, one time, two times, while Meg's grip in his hair grew tighter and her moans louder with every movement.

"Yes!" she shouted when he sucked on it, insecure at first but faster and harder the more she encouraged him, wrestling with his hands, pushing him closer with the leg she'd swung over his shoulder. "Cas, oh, God..."

He had never been with a woman that was quite this vocal, and for a second, as always when he'd had sex, the old teachings of his pastor came back to haunt him: what he was doing was sinful, forbidden, shameful. That didn't stop him from rubbing his entire face against Meg pussy, from licking and lapping and even sliding his tongue inside of her, from moving one hand down to pat his hardened dick over his boxers...

Meg stopped moving altogether as she leaned backwards, moving her pussy away from him. Castiel whimpered in protest and tried to resume what he was doing but Meg forced him to look up. Her eyes had a feverish glimmer and her cheeks were bright red. Her chest heaved up and down, but through her agitated breathing, she still managed to speak:

“No.”

“No?” Castiel repeated, disappointed. Had he done something wrong? She seemed to have been enjoying herself up until that very second, why was she stopping him…?

Meg grabbed his free hand and pulled him up to his feet.

“That’s for me,” she explained, palming his erection until he let out a little groan. “And I think I want it, right now.”

Walking towards her room with his jeans about to burst was uncomfortable, but Castiel forgot all about it once they crossed the threshold. Underneath her painted stars, Meg removed her dress in one fluid movement. She hadn’t bothered putting on a bra (Castiel began wondering if she ever had), so he could marvel at the colorful garden of big flowers in bloom that covered her shoulders and biceps, and the small, solitary blue butterfly in her ass’ right cheek.

“What’s so funny?” she asked. Castiel hadn’t even realized he was laughing.

“Nothing,” he promised, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her closer. “You’re just beautiful, that’s all.”

“And you’re just full of surprises,” she replied, with a giggle.

She grabbed one of his hands and placed it on breast. Castiel circled her hardened nipple with is thumb at the same time he sank his face on the crook of her neck. Meg leaned against him, rubbing her butt against him to give him some much needed friction. Castiel moaned and involuntarily sank his teeth in her skin. Meg laughed again and moved her head in time to meet his gaze and lock her lips over his.

“Condoms are in the first drawer,” she informed him, before walking away, leaving him shivering at the loss of warmth.

He wasted no time in getting rid of his jeans and boxers as Meg moved the covers and laid down against her pillows with a sigh. Castiel felt the sting of her stare as he fumbled with the condom wrapper, his fingers trembling with excitement. She looked like a goddess from one of the paintings she loved so much, with her arms thrown lazily over her head and her body relaxed, yet her lips parted like awaiting for a lover’s kiss. If his brain hadn’t been shortcutting, maybe he’d manage to tell her that. As it was, the moment he finished rolling down the condom, all he could do was kneel on the bed and crawl up to her side.

“I’ve really, really been looking forwards to this,” she commented with a smirk.

“Me too,” he confessed. “You have no idea…”

Meg shut him up with a kiss again. She pressed him down against hers, spreading her legs to wrap them up around his hips. She groaned and bit his lip hard when he slid inside of her, and then Castiel was lost. The blood pumped in his ear in time with his thrusts, with her sighs of pleasure and her increasingly louder orders _not to fucking stop, Clarence, I’ll kill you_. His fingers were tangled in her hair, his mouth moving from her neck to her mouth to her shoulders. The heat between their skins was so high a part of Castiel was convinced a faded, inverted version of her tattoos would be imprinted on him when they broke apart, as a testament that they had been together as much as the scratches on his back and the swollen lips from her biting. He closed his eyes and thrust again, the tension building up in his stomach as Meg arched her back in pleasure, and they were so close, so impossibly close, the drops of sweat mixing and their pulses rushing…

“Cas!”

Meg body tensed underneath him, her heels pushing his ass towards her to go deeper, and suddenly Castiel shuddered, his vision blurring as his orgasm came out in waves. He thought he screamed her name, but he wasn’t sure, because all he was aware of was her breathing on his neck, her taste in his mouth and her heartbeat beneath his fingertips. He closed his eyes, trying to hold on to that bliss for as long as it was possible…

“Cas,” she muttered. “You’re crushing me.”

Castiel moved up with a jolt.

“Sorry!” he said, inching away from her as fast as she could. “Sorry, I’m really sorry…”

But Meg was laughing again, tired and satisfied, and it was the most amazing sound Castiel had heard in a while. She pulled the covers over the both of them and left a lazy kiss on Castiel’s shoulder.

“Welcome home, Odysseus.”

 

* * *

 

This time, when they woke up, they were side by side.

The room was still darkened when Castiel opened his eyes, and for a second or two, he didn’t know what had disturbed him. Then, it became clear: Meg’s cellphone was vibrating and ringing over her night table, but by the way she sank her face in the pillow and groaned angrily, she obviously had no intention of picking it up.

Her bed wasn’t that big, yet she had managed to move as far from Castiel as she could without falling off the mattress. He was also cold, because she had hogged most of the covers and her hair was a mess of blonde and black. Castiel stretched a hand to untangle it, but Meg let out what could only be described as a snarl.

“No,” she moaned against the pillow. “Leave me.”

“Oh… okay,” Castiel muttered, moving away a little disconcerted. “But your phone is…”

“I know it is,” she complained. “It’s the alarm.”

She stretched an arm, touched the screen without even looking and immediately retreated back to the warmness of the covers with a sigh. Castiel stared at her still back for another minute before a smile appeared on his slips.

“You’re cranky in the mornings, aren’t you?”

“And you apparently turn into an octopus overnight,” she groaned when Castiel wrap an arm around her waist to pull her close. “Oh, my God, could you have any more arms?” she asked, struggling to get him off her.

Castiel left a kiss on the back of her head, right between two bright pink magnolias, and gave up. It was clear Meg wasn’t up for some morning cuddling, so it was best to let her rest.

“Hey,” she said, finally lifting her head when she felt him getting up. “Didn’t mean to kick out.”

“I, uh… left my shirt and my jacket downstairs,” Castiel reminded her. “I should retrieve them before you open.”

“Oh,” Meg muttered, and buried her face in the pillow again. “Okay.”

One second later, she was snoozing slightly again. Castiel pulled his boxers up and stopped for a second to watch her. She looked far too peacefully to be the same girl that had practically bit him when he tried to hug her.

He checked his own cellphone: it was still pretty early from when he usually got up, and of course there weren’t any texts or missing calls from the club. That would be a new one. With the reopening two days away, he had expected Balthazar to be going off at everybody, but apparently, he was calm for now. Tomorrow would be a different story, he was sure.

He buttoned up his jeans and opened the door. His jacket and shirt were right outside, hanging neatly from a chair placed for such purpose where he could see them. When Castiel stepped outside to grab them, he saw Tom standing in front of a pan in the kitchen.

“I’m assuming you’re staying for breakfast this time,” he said, and there was an almost threatening tone in his voice. “Clothing’s not optional.”

“Right,” Castiel muttered pathetically, hugging the shirt to his chest as if that would make him seem any less indecent. “I’ll just…”

“Tell Meg her coffee’s ready,” Tom interrupted him. “And she better get here and drink it, because I don’t want to hear it if it gets cold.”

Castiel backtracked into the room without answering. It was clear mornings weren’t the happiest of times for the Masters siblings.

Meg was sitting up on the bed, scratching her eye and staring at her cellphone like it had greatly offended her and she was considering throwing it out of the window in retaliation.

“Hey,” she repeated, and at least made the effort to put up a groggy smile. “Do you have to go?”

“I have some time,” Castiel replied, as he finished buttoning up his shirt. “But I don’t think your brother’s very happy to have me here…”

“Oh, ignore him,” Meg said, standing up. She didn’t bother to drag the covers with her as Daphne had done sometimes, instead treading towards him naked and happy like cold and shame were things that simply didn’t apply to her. “He probably lucked out last night and he’s jealous of us.”

As usual when she was this close, Castiel felt like he had nothing smart to say, instead opting for staring in stunned silence as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Because we had a good time, right?” she asked, the playful smirk he knew back on her lips. “I mean, I know I did.”

“I had an excellent time,” Castiel nodded.

“Good. Maybe I can go on top next time.”

Castiel couldn’t help a shiver of excitement at the idea there would be a next time. Also, there was something incredibly erotic about him being completely clothed while she displayed her body for him like that. He wondered if that was the appeal for all the clients that went to the strip club. And he wondered if Meg would be okay with him throwing her over the bed and having a quickie right there.

The answer came in the form of an innocent peck in the cheek.

“Let me get rid of this morning breath and then I’ll give you a proper kiss,” she said, before disappearing into her bathroom.

“Right, morning breath,” Castiel muttered to himself.

As soon as Meg was out of sight, he breathed into the palm of his hand and tried to determine if it was too bad.

Tom looked up from the plates he was setting on the table with an interrogating look when Castiel popped his head out of the bedroom again.

“Do you… happen to have mouth wash?” Castiel asked, feeling his face getting violently hot.

“Guests’ bathroom,” he pointed at the door right next to the stairs.

Castiel didn’t want to ask how many guests they had that would need mouth wash that often. But he couldn’t help to notice the bottle was only half full.


	12. Chapter 12

Castiel wasn’t ashamed of his sex life (now that he had one again), not at all, but he wasn’t about to give the guys at work ammunition for laughing at him if he showed up at with the same clothes as the day before. So after breakfast (which was a lot less awkward that he expected it to be – on the siblings had some coffee in their systems they became normal people again), he kissed Meg goodbye and returned to his apartment for showering and shaving and maybe a light lunch…

The door from across the hall opened suddenly, startling him. A short, grey-haired man stood on the doorway in his bathroom, giving him a stink eye a so full of anger Castiel froze in his place with the keys in his hand.

“You weren’t here yesterday,” the man accused him.

“Uh… no, I wasn’t,” Castiel admitted, wondering why was that any of the man’s business. In fact, what was he doing there? Wasn’t that apartment empty? “Neither were you,” he pointed out.

“I’m Mervin,” the man introduced himself. “I just moved in.”

“Oh… okay,” Castiel said, still a little disconcerted as to where that conversation was supposed to be going. “Welcome to the building?”

“I wanted to introduce myself,” Mervin continued. “But you weren’t there.”

It sounded like he was personally offended that Castiel hadn’t been a willing participant in his new neighbor’s introduction.

“Sorry,” Castiel said, scratching his neck, nervously. “I worked all day and then I… sorry,” he repeated, because he wasn’t about to explain to that strange old man what he had been doing the night before.

Mervin apparently wasn’t buying his half-hearted apology. Not that Castiel could blame him for it.

“Look, why don’t we start over?” he proposed, crossing the hall with a hand extended. “Hi, I’m Castiel.”

But Mervin was clearly over the pleasantries.

“You better not give me any trouble, kid,” he warned. “I know the building’s owner. I can have you kicked out at a moment’s notice.”

And with that, he slammed the door on Castiel’s face, leaving him unsure as to what exactly he had done to gain his animosity.

 

* * *

 

“My guess is he’s alone and bored,” Sam said when Castiel commented on it that afternoon. “You should ignore him.”

“Yeah, ignore him right until the point he starts scribbling death threats on your door,” Dean said, with his usual lack of nuance. “’Cause he sounds like that type of unhinged to me.”

The dressing room’s door burst open before Castiel could answer and Balthazar barged in with a smile that looked more unhinged than any imaginary retaliation Marvin could deliver.

“Hello, darlings, just checking in to see if the new clothes suited you… you had sex,” he added without even changing his tone of voice.

Castiel didn’t know for second who he was speaking to, until he realized he was the only one there with his shirt off and Balthazar was unequivocally pointing at him.

“How did you…?” he started asking, before he noticed he had just destroyed any plausible deniability. Not that he had any to begin with: Meg’s scratches were all over his arms and shoulders.

“Nice,” Dean chuckled. “How was it?”

“Irrelevant,” Balthazar said, shaking his head. “Just tell her to be more careful the next time. Your body is your bread these days. Ah, Luc, dear, right on time. So glad you could join us.”

If there hadn’t been a mirror in the wall opposite the door, Castiel could have started believing that Balthazar had some sort of sixth sense or at least eyes on the back of his head. Lucifer stood on the doorway, apparently also taken a bit aback by Balthazar’s fast speaking. He recovered with his usual smirk afterwards.

“Balthazar,” he greeted him. “You’re looking good these days.”

That was an outright lie. Aside from the fact he didn’t have the usual cloud of smoke haloing his head, Balthazar didn’t look much different: he was still thin, there were still bags under his eyes and he seemed to be alive thanks to a combination of manic energy and stubbornness. Castiel thought about suggesting he took it easy, but that might have been one of the things Benny had warned him against mentioning.

“I’m feeling better these days,” Balthazar shrugged, also lying through his teeth. “The blessings of having an ongoing project to keep the mind occupied.”

“Well, I see you’re all getting ready to roll,” their boss continued with a bright smile. “Remember, we have final rehearsals today and tomorrow, and then the big day is coming over. Aren’t you all excited?”

“Yeah, super excited.”

“Absolutely.”

“Of course.”

Lucifer was the only one who didn’t join in on the expressions of enthusiasm, instead opting for just going to his corner and taking his clothes off. But Balthazar didn’t notice.

“Excellent!” he said, clapping his hands. “And Cas, darling, tell your girlfriend to bring over all _her_ girlfriends, will you?”

He exited the room before Castiel could protest Meg wasn’t actually his girlfriend. Not that he would have, anyway.

“Okay, you can stop it with the smug smile,” Dean joked. “We’re happy you got laid, but you don’t have to rub it all over our faces.”

“I am not rubbing anything on your faces,” Castiel replied, but he couldn’t suppress the smile in any case.

“So how was she?” Lucifer asked, suddenly. He wasn’t looking at them, apparently too focused on deciding between two ties to wear. “I imagine it was worth it risking Balthazar having a breakdown over the number she did on you.”

Castiel felt the blood rushing to his face, but he refused to stoop down to Lucifer’s level.

“I don’t see how that is any of your business,” he replied, curtly. “And I don’t appreciate you speaking about Meg so disrespectfully.”

“Yeah, man, shut the fuck up,” Dean agreed. “Cas doesn’t care if you slept with her first.”

Sam threw a bottle of body oil at him. It was obvious the two brothers had commented the last time Lucifer had alluded to his relationship with Meg, and clearly they believed they had been strictly platonic as much as Castiel did. But he would have appreciated they brought it up with a little more tact, because now Lucifer was laughing at them.

“It was nothing like that,” he assured them again, as he buttoned up his shirt. “But if I were you, I’d recommend you enjoy it while you can. God only knows how long it’ll take until she gets tired of you.”

Castiel took a step towards him. He didn’t know what he was going to do or say, but his hands were clenched in fists so tight it hurt him. Sam immediately put a hand on his shoulder to hold him in place, while Dean stood up from his stool muttering:

“Hey, take it easy, man, easy…”

“I wonder who she will move on to when that happens,” Lucifer continued, still getting dressed in his grey suit like nothing he was saying was offensive or obnoxious at all. “Gadreel? Michael? Or maybe she will return for an old favorite of hers? I’m talking about Sam here, of course.”

“Do you want to shut up?” Sam snapped at him.

Lucifer chuckled. It seemed that was exactly the reaction he was looking for and he completely enjoyed bringing it out on them. But he also knew to stop before the three actually decided to gang up on him, because he put on his hat, hanged his jacket over his shoulder and dedicated the most radiant of smiles to them.

“Well, I see you on the stage, boys.”

He left before Castiel had finished deciding what would be the best way to kill him and dispose of his body.

“Douchebag,” Dean commented. “Don’t pay attention to him, Cas. Sam never slept with Meg, no matter how much she offered.”

Sam was obviously out of things to throw, because he limited to glare at his brother this time.

“I don’t care,” Castiel replied, stepping away from the brothers and looking for his own costume. “It’s not important.”

He fumbled with the clothes for an entire minute before he turn to Sam again.

“Did she really offer to sleep with you?”

Sam was clearly not happy with the turn the conversation was taking. Dean, on the other hand, started whistling like that would make them think he wasn’t actually listening to them.

“Okay, fine,” Sam sighed. “When she asked me to model for her instead of dancing, she made a couple of passes at me. I didn’t take it seriously, I never flirted back. That was it.”

Castiel could have lived with that explanation, but once again Dean had to go and put his foot in his mouth. He was on a roll that afternoon.

“Yeah, and besides Meg seems like a huge flirt,” he said. It took him one look at Castiel’s face to realize that had been the wrong thing to say. “I mean, I don’t know her personally, so I might be wrong, but she seems like the kid who flirts a lot and… all clients flirt, really, you shouldn’t take it seriously…”

“Shut up!” Sam said, and to Castiel’s relief, Dean did exactly that.

He took a deep breath and shook his head.

“You’re right,” he said, picking up his robes from the hanger. “I shouldn’t take it seriously. I shouldn’t even think about it. We have a rehearsal, boys.”

He took his time to get dress, because he needed a few minutes to compartmentalize his thoughts. His relationship with Meg had nothing to do with her (probably inexistent) relationships with Sam or Lucifer or whatever other guy that had spent the night at her home and used the mouth wash from the guests’ bathroom. They didn’t matter, because she was with him now.

Except she hadn’t said if she was _with_ him. He had just assumed they were together, but sex didn’t mean the same things for everybody and perhaps she didn’t want something serious or committed at that moment, and really, what would be so wrong about it? He could absolutely accept that.

He realized the voice he was using to trying to convince himself he was fine with whatever sounded eerily like Dean’s, so he stopped. He buckled his robes and took one last look in the mirror. He could see the end of his wings in his biceps, but with the right light and the way he had prepared his movements, they wouldn’t be too obvious until he took off his clothes. His act would be just after Lucifer’s for contrast, and suddenly, a new decisive feeling overcame Castiel. He was going to be the handsomest, sexiest stripper on the stage on Valentine’s day, and Meg would see she had no reason to choose another favorite.

Not that he really believed she would do that… he really needed to stop thinking now.

“No, no, no,” Balthazar was protesting when he came out. “You have to do it faster.”

Alfie was on the stage, in a state of half-undressing and he’d obviously been interrupted midway through a movement.

“I’m sorry, I’m trying,” the kid muttered, looking down at his feet.

Balthazar pinched his nose, exasperated.

“Oh, what am I going to do with you?”

“You could let him sing.”

Castiel had no idea where that idea why he thought it was a good idea to suggest that, except that Alfie clearly wasn’t going to and letting him dance would probably bring down the rest of the performance, which couldn’t be good at all for Balthazar’s nerves. There was confusion in everyone’s faces and panic in Alfie’s, but since Castiel had already spoken, he might as well finish the idea:

“He can sing very well,” he continued, even though he had no idea if that was true or not, because he’d never heard him. Luckily, Gadreel and Michael came out in his support.

“It’s true.”

“Yes, we always hear him humming in the dressing room,” Michael said. “He has a very lovely voice.”

“Guys,” Alfie protested, while blushing violently.

“It would be something different,” Benny pointed out. “He can take requests from the clients to sing their favorite songs, and the guys can take longer breaks between performances to give more private dances.”

Balthazar wasn’t completely on board with the idea yet.

“Sing something, if you’re so kind.”

Alfie was so red in the face Castiel wasn’t sure he could even speak again, but after taking a couple of deep breaths, he inquired in a whisper:

“What would you… like me to sing?”

“Anything,” Balthazar replied, with a dismissive gesture. He didn’t say it, but it was pretty obvious this was Alfie’s hail Mary and if he failed, he was going to be kicked out.

Alfie looked at Castiel with such desperation he was about to call it off and say maybe he could teach Alfie to dance instead. But at the last second, the teenager squared his shoulders, closed his eyes and began:

_Can… anybody find me_

_Somebody to love…_

His voice was deeper that one would have expected to come out from such a small body, and although he started very low, he began gaining momentum with every note that came out of his lips.

_… can barely stand on my feet_

_Take a look at yourself in the mirror…_

“Woah,” Castiel heard Dean muttering, and that seemed to be the general sentiment: everyone was staring at Alfie, either enraptured or completely shocked about the revelation of his talent. Even Lucifer was paying attention to him instead at his own reflection in whatever reflective surface nearby.

Alfie didn’t care about their gazes. As long as he wasn’t looking at them, as long as he could pretend he was the only one there, there was nothing to interrupt him. Even his posture was different: he had his chin up high and a little grin on his face, unlike the expression of worrisome and stress he had while he clumsily tried to follow the steps.

Castiel looked at Balthazar’s face and knew right away he had made the right call.

Alfie finished and the moment he opened his eyes, he was his usual, shy self again.

“It’s… I know I should…”

“You’re singing,” Balthazar decided before he could add another word. “And that’s the last I want to hear about it. Alright, boys to your positions, the clock is ticking.”

 

* * *

 

The queue around outside of the club reached the corner and went around it, according to Benny’s information. Not to make them nervous or anything, but they had to be at their very best that night, because there was also a huge line outside Hell Hath no Fury and Balthazar was most definitely going to kill someone if it turned Crowley had made more money at the end of the night.

“How would they even know who made more money?” Sam asked.

“They’ll get together for a drink and compare notes,” Benny explained.

“Don’t they hate each other?” Dean pointed out.

“Oh, yes, with a passion,” Benny confirmed, and shrugged at the dancers’ simultaneous looks of confusion. “They’re English. Anyway, get ready boys. We’re opening the doors in fifteen minutes.”

Balthazar wasn’t the only one anxious to see what the night had in store. Those days of intense practice and rescheduling the dances to make room for Alfie’s act all Castiel had been able to do afterwards was go back to his apartment and sleep. But they had been texting a lot in between those moments. Meg told him about her classes, the clients that went to the studio, and sent him pictures of some of the sketches she was working on. And although they were both pretty certain that Balthazar had meant it as a joke, she had promised she would show up with some friends from college.

“You nervous?” Dean asked.

“Why would I be?” Castiel asked.

“Well, you know, it’s the first time she’ll be here since you two are actually a thing,” Dean pointed out. “Also, Lucifer will be here, so that might make everything a little awkward…”

Sam pushed Dean out of the way, involuntarily sending him tripping against a chair.

“I’m really sorry about him,” he apologized to Castiel. “I don’t know what it is with him these days, but I swear he means well. Please, just ignore everything that comes out of this jerk’s mouth.”

“Who are you calling a jerk, bitch?” Dean asked, narrowing his eyes at his brother.

What followed was a friendly wrestling match for the body oil that Castiel ignored while he dressed up in his robes. Unlike other days, they would act individually first and then finish the night off with a group dance. And to answer Dean’s question, no, Castiel wasn’t nervous. In fact, he was feeling pretty confident as he heard the cheers and screams the clients gave when Balthazar climbed out on the stage.

“Welcome back, you lovely ladies!” he greeted them. “Oh, how we’ve missed you all!”

More shouting and clapping invaded the air. Apparently the ladies had missed them as well, which was... odd. There were other strip clubs in the city, weren't there? And if it was sexy naked men they wanted, they might have looked for them on the Internet.

"The Heaven and Hell is very proud that we can share this night with you," Balthazar continued. "So whether you came here for fun or because those assholes out there couldn't appreciate you, it doesn't matter. There's plenty of love for you from our boys here."

The roaring became so loud and impatient that his boss had to stop talking for a second. Castiel peaked from behind the curtain at the end of the stage to see Balthazar's back silhouetted against the stage lights. He had his hand in the air, like an orchestra director for whom the screaming was music or a rockstar basking in the admiration of his fans, and Castiel couldn't hold back a smile. Balthazar's showmanship and charisma was definitely unmatched, and he shouldn't worry at all that anyone would be stealing his public from him.

"Oh, yes, our sexy, sexy boys have missed you dearly," Balthazar continued. "So much, in fact, that they've actually died and went to Heaven. Or Hell, and that made them a thousand times hotter."

"Yeah!" a woman shouted, enthusiastically, and others joined her hooting and whistling.

"Oh, I see you don't want to waste any time," Balthazar joked. "Well, let us begin this wonderful night then! Here's a great guy who is ready to fall for you. Please, put your hands together for Icarus!"

Castiel stepped backwards with a sigh and squared his shoulders. it was time.

The curtain raised and the lights and smoke blinded him for a second. He didn't need his eyes or his ears for this routine, though. He had practiced it so many times he was certain his body could carry it automatically while he occupied his mind thinking about cat videos he had seen on the Internet. Well, most of it any way.

But that wouldn't have been fair for their clients. And it wouldn't have been fair to Meg, wherever she was. It was the first time he was going to show off her work to strangers, and she deserved him being in full form.

He raised his hand and started move very slow, stretching his arms and legs while following the deep, melodic humming of the singer. He had chosen a more rhythmical song this time, a bit faster than Hozier but still slow enough that he could get away with flowery, long spins.

As the song got faster, he raised his arms and started swaying his hips, to the enthusiastic approval of the clients.

_Oh, look who's digging their own grave_

_That is what they all say_

_You'll drink yourself to death..._

"Yeah, take it off!" someone shouted from his right.

With a teasing smile of his lips, Castiel unbuckled his belt and stretched it behind his shoulders, before gracefully tossing it aside. He had never noticed how hot it was up there, or maybe it was that his blood was rushing the more the faster he moved.

_Living beyond your years_

_Acting out all their fears_

_You feel it in your chest_

The faces beyond the stage were a blur, and although one of the poses allowed him to look directly at the bar's direction, he couldn't see Meg's bleached blonde hair anywhere

It didn't matter. The chorus was coming and this was the trick he needed to focus all his attention on. He backtracked towards the end of the stage again and took a deep breath.

_Your hands protect the flame_

_From the wild winds around you..._

He had done a thousand times during practice, or at least that was how it felt. He had fallen on his face more times than he cared to count, but lately he had managed to land it perfectly.

_Icarus is flying too close to the sun..._

So when he ran towards the pole, his heart racing in his chest and the blood rushing to his face, he had the absolute confidence he could pull it off.

The trick was to not stop.

_And Icarus life has only just began_

_Its only just began..._

The belt lassoed around the pole perfectly. There was a collective gasp in the split second it took for the clients to guess what he was going to do and him actually doing it, and that made him immensely proud. His body swung above the heads of the clients near the stage, and they erupted in hysterical screams as he use the momentum he had gain to wrap his legs around the pole and climb so high he could have touched the club's ceiling.

His head was a little dizzy, and his hands were definitely not as firm as they could have, but it didn't matter. He had done it, and now it was time for the final reveal.

In a single, fast movement, he yanked the robes down his back and tossed them down on the stage. Holding his entire weight just with his legs, he stretched his arms wide as the lights came to rest on his back.

Right on cue, Ash stopped the music for three exact second, so the applause that followed sounded even more deafening.

And Castiel understood exactly why Balthazar always took his time to appreciate all the love being showered over him.

He spun around the pole to get down and grinded against him, the smile on his face so wide his cheeks were hurting a little. There were at least a dozen clients standing around the stage, stretching their bills towards him, and Castiel took a second to look at their faces every time he let them stuff it in his underwear.

Meg wasn't among them.

Of course, he kept smiling like there was absolutely nothing in the world that could bother him, like he wouldn't rather be anywhere but there. He strutted towards the end of the stage and gave one final bow. Balthazar patted him in the back as he went to present the next act.

“Nice,” Benny congratulated him and gave him a number. “A group requested you on the second booth.”

“Already?” Castiel frowned.

Of course, he should have known exactly what he was going to find there. He heard her before seeing her: her laughter floating above the noise, the cheering and Balthazar introducing “Samandriel” to the public. She was sitting with her back to him, with Ruby and two other girls, and they were all talking loudly to hear each other over the music. By the amount of empty glasses in front of them, Castiel deduced they must have been at the very least a tiny tipsy.

Meg moved her head and a smile appear on her lips when she saw him.

“Hey!” she greeted him, waving his hand.

Immediately the other girls turned to look at him.

“Are you kidding me?!” one of them shouted. “He’s even hotter up close!”

Ruby completely cracked up at that and the third one just raised her glass, as if she was toasting to Castiel’s health.

He was taken aback for a second that they all knew him (or at least, about him and his relationship with Meg), before he remembered he was still on the clock. These might be Meg’s friends, but they were also still clients and he needed to act accordingly.

“Ladies,” he smiled. “Welcome. Please, tell me what can I do for you?”

“You can shake you pretty ass again for us,” the girl who’d called him hot said.

“Okay, Cecily, I think it’s time we switch you to something lighter,” the third girl said, discreetly moving the bottle of beer out of Cecily’s reach. Ruby laughed louder and Castiel took another step towards the table, trying to come up with an answer when a hand came to rest in his forearm.

“You were great!” Meg congratulated him over the music.

And people coming onto him and talking about his ass didn’t do it, but her just looking at him like that managed to make him blush.

“Thank you,” he muttered. He didn’t want to take her hand off him, and thankfully Balthazar wasn’t around, but still. “Sorry. We probably shouldn’t… Balthazar says it kills the fantasy…”

Meg removed her hand immediately, but her friend (the only one who was definitely sober) said:

“Well, you can just go to the back. We bought you a private dance.”

“What?” Meg looked at her, with her chuckle getting caught in her throat like she didn’t know whether her friend was serious or not. “Casey, you didn’t have to do that…”

Ruby searched frantically inside her jeans until she pulled one of the receipts the club extended for private dances.

“Go get it, girl,” she said, putting it in Meg’s hand.

“Oh,” Castiel said, trying not to smile as wide as he wanted to. “Well, in that case… come with me, please, complete stranger.”

Cecily shouted something at them while they were walking away, but he couldn’t make out what it was. Benny eyed them suspiciously when they walked past him, but Castiel shoved the receipt in his hand to show him this was a legitimately bought time. He still didn’t look happy about it.

“If Balthazar asks me why you’re alone in one of the private rooms with your girlfriend, I’m going to say you arm-wrestled me,” he warned them.

Meg burst into laughter when Castiel closed the door behind them.

"So," she said, crooking an eyebrow. "I'm your girlfriend."

"I didn't tell them that," Castiel explained, feeling the blood rushing to his cheeks.

But if Meg was bothered by it, she didn't show it. Instead, she placed a hand over Castiel's abdomen and stood on the tip of her toes to leave a soft, teasing kiss on his lips. She was smirking when they broke apart, almost like she was defying him to tell her that wasn't something they should be doing right there.

Castiel wasn't about to say anything of the sort. Without thinking too much about it, he grabbed her by the waist, spun around with her and pushed her against the wall. This time their kiss was hungry, desperate. He nibbled her lower lip right before sliding his tongue into her mouth. Meg arched her back and pressed her body against his, so close he could actually have pulled her dress down and taken her right there.

That was really inappropriate, though, so he broke apart before his thoughts and his hands got too out of control.

“Is it too cliché if I ask what you’re doing later?” Meg breathed, not letting go off him still.

“We still have the group routine later,” he explained. “And I have to do other privates… it’s going to end pretty late…”

Meg pursed her lips. Obviously, that wasn’t the answer she was looking for.

“Do you want to come home with me?”

Later, everyone would have an opinion about what the best part of the night was. Dean would insist it was all the generous tips and numbers he got, Sam would say it was trying something entirely new. Gadreel and Michael would insist it was Alfie's singing and he, blushing, would say that of course it wasn't, that the best part was the group dance at the end of it all to bid the clients farewell. Balthazar would just lean down with a drink in his hand and say, philosophically, that the night had been an event greater than the sum of all its parts.

All those things were great, admittedly. But to Castiel, the highest point of the night was muttering a simple "Yes" right before Meg pulled him closer for another kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The songs featured in this chapter are Somebody to Love by Queen and Icarus by Bastille. I don't know why so many chapters are coming out as songfics, but I deeply apologize for it.


	13. Chapter 13

The bottles tinkled inside of the bags as the guys dragged them outside one by one.

"Another great night, boys," Benny commented, weighing it in his hand before throwing them on recycling bin. "I'm sure Balthazar would be more than happy to hear tonight's results."

"Yeah, speaking of which," Michael said. "When is he coming around? I swear, it's like we don't even see him anymore."

Castiel could have sworn the bouncer flinched, like that was a question he'd been expecting but wasn't ready to answer. A second later, his expression had gone back to normal as he shrugged.

"Don't know what to tell you," he said. "He's been busy. He'll come back when he comes back. Go home and count your earnings, guys."

"Goodnight, everybody."

"See you on Wednesday!"

"Bye!"

Dean and Sam fist-bumped Castiel in the corner, and then the three went their separate ways. The walk to his apartment would be lonely and slow, but Castiel didn't mind as much as he had months ago. The winter had finally passed, and now the air was thin with the smell of a spring drizzle coming over to wash away what was left of it. Soon it would be summer and he wouldn’t even need the light jacket he was wearing right now.

It had been almost three months since Valentine’s Day, and the club was a success. With the rounds on the clubs Ash had them making, they had a full house almost every Friday and Saturday night, and even on week days the assistance was pretty great. The new system for private dances Balthazar had established also worked wonders: the clients paid a fee to spend a determinate amount of time with the dancer, and as a result, they could make room for more private encounters each night. A part of the money went to them, but since Balthazar already kept his share from it, the guys got to keep their tips intact. As a result, the roll of fifties and one hundreds Castiel kept inside his drawer had grown considerably fatter.

According to Ash, the Heaven and Hell was doing better than the Hell Hath No Fury due to the simple fact they knew their audience better. Crowley’s club prided itself in being an “equal opportunity” club with both male and female dancers, but that created a lot of confusion because who did it cater to? Straight women? Straight men? Gay people?

“Girls prefer to go where they know they’ll get exactly what they want,” Ash explained. “So that’s what we give to them.”

Usually it had been Balthazar giving them that talk, but it was true the only one who didn’t seem to be enjoying the club’s success was him. He went around only once or twice a week, and most of the welcoming talks and presentations had fallen on Alfie’s (or “Samandriel”’s, as he went by now) shoulders. Most clients didn’t seem to mind, because he was – and Castiel quoted the words he had heard thrown around him – “adorable”, but some had approached Rudy to ask about Balthazar.

“They call him the English grey fox,” Rudy had commented them, laughing. “He’ll totally find it funny when I tell him. Well, if I remember to tell when I see him.”

And then his expression had darkened a little.

It was an open secret that Balthazar was not showing up at the club because of his illness. They didn’t say out loud, they didn’t mention it if they could, but their boss’ absence had begun to get a little awkward.

“I am not taking orders from anyone but him,” Lucifer had said one time he had shown up for rehearsals and someone had dared to point out he had made a mistake. “You guys have no idea what you’re doing. Balthazar is what makes this place work, and if you’re too blind to see it, well, that’s not my fault, _darlings_.”

He then had proceeded to exit the club like the diva he was, but nobody thought much of it. The place could work just fine without Lucifer, and at least for the time being, it could also work without Balthazar. It was like he had left them a well-oiled engine that need very little of his intervention. Benny transmitted Balthazar’s orders, the dancers agreed on what routines they should perform, Ash and Samandriel kept the music loud and Rudy made sure the alcohol flowed. Everyone did their part and the Heaven and Hell kept moving forwards.

So Castiel wasn’t too worried. He understood (as everyone did) that Balthazar needed time to recover and he didn’t want anyone seeing him in any state but his usual sarcastic, energetic self. Sometimes he figured he could wish him well and tell him he was there should Balthazar need him, that offering his help was the best he could do after everything their boss had done for him. But this was a very personal issue and if Benny said Balthazar didn’t want anyone asking too many questions, he wasn’t going to make them.

And besides, it was hard for Castiel to worry too much about things those days.

His apartment’s floor was scattered with scribbled pages, discarded sketches and open books when he arrived. He took off his shoes so he didn’t step on any and tiptoed towards the sleeping form on his bed.

Meg had insisted she absolutely needed somewhere to stay while studying for finals that week, because Tom’s motorbike gang friends had arrived on town and they were on their house drinking beer and playing poker every other day. She’d said she liked those guys, but not when she had exams coming up, and so she had showed up at Castiel’s door with a duffle bag with her clothes and a backpack with her books and notes.

“It’s only going to be for a short time,” she’d said over and over while she hanged her dresses in Castiel’s clothes and put her underwear away in his drawer. “I don’t want you to think like I’m invading your space or anything, I just…”

Castiel had grabbed her by the waist and left a kiss on her neck.

“By all means,” he’d said. “Invade my space all you want.”

The place looked smaller with Meg and her things there, but it also looked cozier. Castiel had never before realized how boring his mornings had been without her groans and sarcasm, how silent and sad his apartment was without her jokes, without her sitting on his kitchen with her legs crossed over the chair, turning the pages of her History of Art books. He had got used to her laughter when he burnt something in the kitchen, to the scratching of her pencils and the paint stains and turpentine when she worked on something bigger.

And of course, to her body to snuggle up against when he got home late at night.

Meg shifted over the blankets with a sigh when he wrapped his arms around her.

“Cas?” she called, groggily. Her voice sounded even raspier when she'd just woken up.

“No, I’m just a stranger in the night coming to cuddle with you,” he whispered.

"Oh," she replied. "Well, if you see my boyfriend, tell him we're gonna need a bigger bed."

Castiel chuckled as he rubbed his nose against the back of her head.

“Ugh, don't be a tease,” she complained.

“Nothing further from my intention,” he assured her, sliding her hand up her leg very slowly. “If you want me to stop, you are perfectly welcome to say so.”

“You’re such an asshole,” she mumbled, but she finally seemed to have woken up, as she turned around and passed a hand over his shoulder. In the semi-darkness of his apartment, he could see her eyes opened, drilling into his as a smirk appeared on her lips. “Hi.”

“Hello…” Castiel managed to say before Meg moved to give him an open-mouthed kiss.

The mattress sank a little while they tossed and turned, wrestling to get a position that was comfortable for the two. She was right about something: his bed was far too small. But that didn't matter much when she finally straddled him, holding his hands over his head and smiling down at him.

"You are so pretty I could just eat you," she commented, as she carefully rubbed her thighs against Castiel's erection.

"Who's... who's being the tease now?" he moaned throwing his head back.

"That would still be you," she insisted. "Unless you remembered to buy more condoms."

“They’re in the… they’re in my bag…” he managed to say in between gasps.

Meg she turned on the night lamp and with her lips pursed, she slipped her nightgown down. Her small breasts were exposed in the soft, golden light, and that definitely didn't make things any easier for Castiel.

“Get them, then.”

She didn’t have to tell him twice.

By the time he managed to open the wrapper and roll one down, she was naked and had a finger right over her clit, her mouth parted in a gasp Castiel caught in a kiss when he jumped back into bed with her and pulled her up to sit on his lap. Meg easily slid down his cock and sank her teeth on his neck.

It was electrifying, mesmerizing. Castiel had never felt like that with any of the girls he had shyly kissed after high school, not even with Daphne. It had always been calm, comfortable, like a slow song with fluid, calculated moves.

Meg... Meg was entirely different. Every time they touched, every time they kissed, his heart started pounding in his chest, his knees went weak and his head got dizzy. He was completely lost when she called his name and making love with her was a frantic experience. He had thought that passion that almost didn't let him think would recede the more time he spent with her and they would fall into a calm, predictable routine. But it didn't seem that was the case. Meg was a fast song, a maddening performance he could barely keep up with.

And oh, God, he never wanted it to stop.

Because when it did, sometimes she squirreled away from him, even if his bed was far smaller than hers, even if it was cold and it made sense to cuddle. Sometimes she jokingly told him to keep his hands to himself, and Castiel did because there was nothing really funny about it. On a couple of occasions, she had even got up from the bed, stating she needed to go back home despite the hour, leaving him cold and confused and unable to dance at the rhythm of her footsteps walking away.

But he didn't like to think about that. Because in that moment, when they were so close he couldn't tell where he ended and she began, in that exact second her body shuddered and she let out a scream pleasure and her finger squeezed his shoulders so tight they left bruises... in that moment, she was his, entirely his, without barriers or unspoken conversations or worries about the future.

And if he was lucky and didn't make any sudden movements, she continued to be his afterwards. She'd put her head over his chest and sigh happily and fall asleep with his hands around her waist.

That night he was lucky.

"I hate your walls."

Castiel startled from his happy dozing off and looked down at her, blinking in confusion.

"I'm... sorry?"

"They're so white and boring," she complained. "How am I supposed to concentrate in such a plain environment?"

"I don't know," he muttered. "But... uh, you can't really paint them. I mean, you could, but I would have to paint them over again when I leave the apartment. And that'd be a shame."

Meg hummed pensively, a sound that became almost a purr as Castiel ran his fingers through her hair, untangling any knots he found.

“I would paint the sea,” she commented, in a whisper so low he wasn’t sure he’d even heard her. “Just a vast, blue sea with the sun gleaming down on it. Lazy waves moving back and forwards… and maybe a storm brewing in the horizon, a raging storm in the open ocean with heavy drops, smoky black clouds and silver lightning.”

Castiel could imagine the mural perfectly. Meg’s skillful hands would bring it to life and he could fall asleep every night feeling like he was being rocked in that ocean, lulled by the rumor of the water crashing on the beach.

“Why would you paint that?” he asked.

And just like that, he knew he had said something wrong.

“No reason,” she replied, rolling over and stealing the better part of his sheet in the process. “Go to sleep, Clarence. You have to work tomorrow.”

Castiel spent a long time staring at her back before he gathered up the energy to turn off the light. He tentatively put a hand over Meg’s thigh. He waited, but she didn’t move away and didn’t tell him to move it, so maybe, just maybe, he was still his for the night.

Or maybe she just wasn’t awake enough to tell him to stay away. And maybe he didn’t have the sound of the waves or the thunders to get him to fall asleep, but her deep, heavy breathing was just as good.

 

* * *

 

“Thank you for buying with us, please come back soon!”

The old lady that had just purchased her groceries didn’t even bother to look at him. Castiel was pretty certain she had been the same woman who’d told him it was a blasphemy he was working on Sunday instead of worshipping the Lord, and then left in a huff when he’d pointed out she couldn’t have bought her groceries if he hadn’t been working. Or maybe she was her sister or maybe all angry Christian old ladies started looking the same after several weekends smiling forcefully at them.

His mother would kill him if she knew what he was thinking right then.

Norah, his manager, popped her head out from the back room.

“Hey, Cas, come and see me when your turn is over.”

Castiel stifled, but Norah was gone before he could ask her what was wrong or if anything was wrong. Had a client complained about him? Would he be fired over it? To be honest, it wasn’t the worst thing it could happen. He had some money saved up, but this day job was also helping a lot and…

Claire, the teenage girl who replaced him, arrived five minutes late, which was unusual. Usually she was up to ten or fifteen minutes late, and she invariably glared at him whenever he attempted to greet her. So lately he just quietly left his post at the tiles and went to the back to change. This time, however, he stopped by Norah’s office.

“You wanted to see me?”

Norah looked up from the papers on her desk and blinked at him, like she’d forgotten or something boggled her mind.

“Why haven’t you asked for more hours?” she asked, without even asking him to come in or close the door behind him.

“I… don’t need more hours?” Castiel said, frowning.

“You’re always on time,” Norah pointed out. “You never slack, you never get into arguments with the clients. Hell, if I didn’t know you’re such a nice person, I’d say you’re trying to snatch my job.”

“Of course not,” Castiel said, horrified that she would think such a thing. “I wouldn’t dare. You’re a very good manager, Norah, I would never…”

“I was speaking figuratively,” Norah clarified before Castiel embarrassed himself further. “I was just wondering why you’re working here when you could get a much better job with your ethics.”

Castiel hesitated, thinking thoroughly about what he was going to say before opening his mouth:

“I have a night job as well,” he explained. “But it’s only temporary until September.”

He didn’t need to say that was when the auditions would be held, because incredibly, Norah remembered.

“Right. Dancer,” she said, pointing at him with his pen. “Hey, no offense but it sounds to me you don’t have much of a social life. Would you like to go out some time?”

Castiel almost suffered from whiplash from that change of topic. Norah had said in the most casual of tones, but now she was watching him carefully out of the corner of his eye, awaiting his reaction.

“I… actually have a girlfriend,” he said, shrugging apologetically.

“Of course you do,” Norah said, closing her eyes for a second, like she was ashamed she’d even asked. “Sorry. I’ve been so busy with the baby and… it’s been a long time since I’ve done this, and I just thought it’d be a nice chance to relax and…”

“It’s okay,” Castiel guaranteed. “It’s fine, I don’t… really…”

“I mean, asking someone out from work? I must be really getting desperate.” Norah sank her face in her hands. “That was so unprofessional. Just… forget I said anything.”

Castiel tapped his foot on the floor awkwardly, but when it was clear Norah wasn’t going to add anything else, he turned around to leave. However, he stopped in his track. Balthazar had instructed them to bring more people to the club and use every opportunity to invite them, but what would Norah think of him? Meg said there was no shame in stripping, that it was a job like any other, but not everyone was capable of taking it in such a stride. For example, he hadn’t mentioned it to his mother, and if he was up to him, he was going to take the secret to the grave.

But it couldn’t be denied the women at the club always had a good time, and perhaps it was what Norah really needed after all.

“Uh… well, if you want to have some fun,” Castiel started. “There’s this place…”

Castiel left the office a second later, his face red as a tomato and Norah’s laughter ringing in his ear. Claire crooked an eye at him, but of course her teenage apathy prevented her for making questions. Thankfully.

Well, Meg would find it as funny and she would probably laugh as hard as Norah. She had been so stressed over exams lately that she’d need it. He’d try to convince her to take the night off studying. Perhaps they could order a pizza that night and eat it while they watched a movie in her computer. And make out when the movie got too boring. That sounded like a good plan.

Castiel’s plans vanished in the air even before he set a foot in his apartment. While he climbed the stairs, he heard people screaming, which wasn’t unusual. There was a couple in the second floor that broke up monthly, and Meg assured him they spent entire nights arguing. Although he usually wasn’t there to hear them, she had become quite an enthusiast for their fights.

“This week it was because he didn’t want them to visit her mother,” she said. “Don’t laugh, Clarence, it’s the most entertaining thing I have to do around here since you don’t have a TV.”

Maybe they had just started earlier that particular Sunday and they could hear them arguing together.

But as he kept climbing, he realized the voices weren’t coming from the second floor, but from the third. His floor. And with every step, he realized it was Meg’s voice that was shouting, along with a deeper, voice he recognized as Victor’s, his landlord. There was a third voice interjecting some things, and it took him about an entire minute to realize it was Mervin, his weird neighbor from across the hall.

What the hell was going on there?

“Are you for real?!” Meg was shouting when he finally reached them. “You’re giving me shit for this? He’s drunk out of his mind, just look at him!”

“Alcohol is legal, missy!” Mervin slurred. “Weed isn’t!”

“He’s right.” Victor nodded gravely. “And on top of it, you still haven’t told me who you are.”

“I don’t have to… Cas, you’re here!” she said, turning to him. She was barefoot and wearing the plaid dress she used when she had absolutely no intention of leaving the house. Her eyes were a little unfocused, but Castiel didn’t really think she had smoked all that much. “Please tell these guys to get off my case, already!”

“Uh… what’s going on?” Castiel asked, with an apprehensive look at the three of them.

It took him about fifteen minutes to find out, because Meg and Mervin kept screaming over each other, interrupting Victor and making unnecessarily aggressive interjections about what the other deserved. But in the end, it was quite simple: Mervin had smelled the weed Meg had been smoking (“How? You were on the other side of the hall! Were you waiting outside the door, smelling, you fucking freak?”), he had knocked on the door to tell her to stop, she (in true Meg fashion) had told him to go fuck himself, and Mervin had gone crying to Victor (“Yeah, that’s right, I told you we were tight!”).

Victor was obviously not entirely happy with Mervin’s friendship. But he was even less happy with Meg and Castiel’s situation.

“I explained the rules to you when you just moved in,” he said. “Not subletting…”

“I am not subletting,” Castiel argued. “Meg is staying here as my guest, it’s not even something permanent…”

“And no drugs!”

Castiel cringed. It was true that was one of the rules and they had infringed it… more than one time, but he wasn’t going to tell him that. He had just thought it wasn’t a big deal, weed was hardly a drug, and as Meg had pointed out, there were drunken brawls on the building every other week. When they smoked, they stayed inside and didn’t bother anybody, but Mervin had once started drunkenly rearranging the furniture of his apartment and two o’clock in the morning and they hadn’t complained. It wasn’t fair.

But with Victor’s dark eyes piercing him, Castiel wouldn’t even dare to bring that up.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized pathetically. “It won’t happen again, I promise…”

“Not it won’t,” Victor said. His tone of voice was cold as ice when he added: “Pack up your things. I want the place vacated in the morning.”

If he had punched him in the gut, Castiel hadn’t been more disconcerted.

“Wait, Victor, please…”

“Woah, woah, you can’t just kick him out!” Meg came in his defense, striding towards them to stand in between. “Hey, listen. It was my fault, okay? I was the one smoking, and I don’t even live here. I’m going to leave and never come back, and no one has to get kicked out.”

Victor stared at her like he was considering that offer, and for a second, Castiel allowed himself the relief to think he was going to accept it.

Except not, because Mervin had to intervene again:

“No exceptions!” he shouted. “She was smoking in your place, which is your responsibility! Victor said no exceptions, one strike and you’re out, you can’t go back on your word!”

“Oh, my God, why don’t you shut up already?!” Meg replied.

“I’m sorry, Castiel, he’s right.” Victor shook his head while Meg and Mervin resumed their insulting each other. “It’s a rule I can’t break. I have some people on probation living here, and if the prison find out I allow drugs in my building…”

Castiel closed his eyes slowly, taking a deep breath. Goddammit, and things had been so fine just last night.

“I understand,” he said, hanging his head in shame. “Could you please give me a couple of days, at least? So I can sort out where I’m staying…”

“… you nosy weasel! You don’t need a couple of days!” Meg shouted. It took a second or two for Castiel to realize she was speaking to him, because she hadn’t change her tone between one phrase and the other. “You’re coming with me, and you can go both to hell!”

She grabbed one of Castiel’s hands and showed a middle finger to Victor and to Mervin before dragging him inside the apartment and slamming the door behind them.

“These holier-than-thou assholes, I can’t even…” she muttered, as she angrily fished her bag from underneath the bed. “Are you going to tell me these guys never smoked at all? That’s just…”

“What are you doing?” Castiel asked.

A slow sensation of panic was starting to grow in his stomach as he watched Meg stomp around the apartment, gathering her makeup from the bathroom, her shoes from the closet and her underwear from the half drawer Castiel had cleaned up for her. It was like she was willing to leave just as swiftly as she’d arrived, and of course she was entirely in her right to do that, but… Castiel didn’t want her to.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Meg replied, closing her books and throwing them carelessly in the duffle bag. “I’m packing! Why aren’t you doing the same?”

“I’m… Meg, hold on, stop.” He took a step forwards and put a hand on Meg’s shoulder just to get her to pay attention to him. “I don’t… what do you mean?”

“You’re coming to stay with me,” Meg replied, matter-of-factly. “Where else would you go?”

Castiel analyzed her face, almost waiting for her to start laughing and telling him she was just joking and really sorry about it all and to call her when he was installed in his new place or if he managed to convince Victor to let him stay after all.

Meg didn’t say any of those things. She just gazed back at him, stone-faced, and maybe a little confused as to why Castiel was confused.

“You’re high,” Castiel concluded.

“I didn’t even get to take three puffs before that asshole came knocking,” Meg assured him. “And even if I was, doesn’t mean I don’t want you to come.”

Castiel realized that conversation was leading nowhere, so he changed his argument.

“Tom’s not going to like it.”

Meg yanked the cellphone charger from the wall and pressed the screen.

“Hey, Tom, it’s me. Listen, Cas is going to stay with us for a while because his stupid landlord can’t handle a little weed. We’ll be there in a couple of hours. See you.”

She ended the call so fast Castiel highly doubted Tom had any chance to reply or protest.

“Meg…”

“We’ll just tell him it’s temporal,” Meg said, turning around to continue her impulsive packing up.

“Meg!” Castiel said, a little louder.

Meg stopped in his tracks and stared at him, placing one hand on her hip, as if wondering what his problem was. Castiel sighed, massaging his temples.

“Is it always going to be like this with you?” he asked. “Freefalling fast into a relationship and then stomping on the breaks whenever they were getting a bit too intimate?”

“That metaphor doesn’t make sense,” Meg pointed out. “Are we skydiving or driving a car?”

“I’m… I’m not entirely sure.”

Meg fidgeted with her dress for a second.

“Well, I’m not sure either,” she confessed. “I know it seems like I freak out and push you away sometimes, and you don’t say anything because you’re that patient and sweet. But that’s just ‘cause… I’ve had some bad experiences, and it scares me how strong and how fast this is.”

“It scares me too,” Castiel whispered. He was a bit surprised: Meg was always so confident and calm he didn’t think anything could really scare her. But on the other hand, it was a relief to hear she felt the same way.

“But I do want you around,” she said. “And I don’t want you to be homeless. So… are you coming?”

It was really hard to tell her no when she gave him that look.

 

* * *

 

There were three muscly guys, covered from head to toe in leather and studs, sitting on the Masters’ table, all of them at least twice as big as Castiel and reeking of beer. They simultaneously raised their heads from the cards in their hands and glared at him from behind the bandanas that covered their abundant mats of unkempt hair, and one of them touched his beard like he was thinking about something very important.

“Yeah, we could totally bash his skull,” he commented, in a low voice, but not low enough that Castiel couldn’t hear him. He figured that was the entire point of it.

“Hey, Meg,” Tom said, casually taking a swig of his beer. “I invited the gang for dinner. Hope you don’t mind.”

“Course not,” Meg said, as if finding three huge bikers on her living room playing poker was a perfectly normal part of the routine. “How you doing, guys?”

“Hey, how are you? Good to see you…”

“You going to introduce us to your boy here?” the guy who had threatened to bush Castiel’s skull asked.

“Sure. Let us just get these bags on my room and we can make the presentations.”

Castiel opened his mouth to say something, but Meg dragged him away before he could.

“Oh, don’t worry about them,” she said, as if she had read his thoughts. “They’re all bark and no bite, I promise…”

“I’m actually more concerned about Tom,” Castiel answered. He’d had his suspicions before, but now he was pretty sure Tom was willing and able to hire someone to bust his kneecaps if he crossed him.

“Yeah, don’t worry about him either,” Meg said, taking Castiel’s bag from his hand and placing it on the bed. “He rarely notices things unless they’re directly in his way. If you’re inconspicuous enough, you can probably stay forever.”

Castiel tried to erase the big dumb smile that appeared on his face before Meg looked at him again, but he wasn’t fast enough.

“What?” she asked, crooking an eyebrow.

“Nothing,” Castiel replied, pulling her close to give her a kiss.

It was just that he liked that word, forever. But he wasn’t going to tell her that just then.


	14. Chapter 14

Castiel was awake, but sinking his face on the pillow and trying with all his might not to be. Last night the club had closed quite late for a Thursday, and he didn’t even want to think about getting up and going to the store and having to face Norah (who still let out a little giggle whenever she saw him, even though it had been weeks) and then going to the club, because it was Friday night and…

Soft lips were ghosting his cheek, pulling him back into a much sweeter and tempting reality.

“Good morning,” Meg said. Her breath had a distinctive scent of caffeine, and the fact she sounded so cheerful meant she had been up long enough to counteract her morning crankiness. But still, Castiel wasn’t exactly eager to open his eyes.

“Five more minutes,” he muttered, shrinking inside sheets as if making himself smaller would somehow stop the world from reminding him all the things he needed to do.

“Oh, I would let you,” Meg replied. “But your cellphone has been ringing nonstop and its driving Tom crazy. This Hael chick… didn’t you say she was your cousin?”

That was enough to get him paying attention. Hael never called. She texted him to check up on him or sent him images of funny cats now and then, but calling was something his parents did to make sure he was still alive now and then. Why would she ever…?

The cellphone rang again and Hael’s face was blinked on the screen. Med handed it to him and he couldn’t push the answer button fast enough.

“Hey!” his little cousin greeted him before he could say a word. “You didn’t come to my graduation ceremony.”

“Oh, was that this week?” Castiel chuckled, at the same time he let relief wash over him. She was probably only fishing for congratulations, and this was a pretty important touchstone for her. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Hael replied, and he could almost picture her shrugging. “You can make it up to me by picking me up from the bus station.”

Castiel figured he was still half-asleep, because he wasn’t sure he had heard correctly.

“What bus station?”

“There’s more than one? Woah, this place sure is big. Let me ask the driver.”

“Hael!” Castiel called her, but by the muffled voices and the static, he deduced she had pressed the phone against her chest and she wouldn’t listen to a word he said.

“What’s wrong?” Meg asked, propping herself on her elbow.

Castiel didn’t have time to tell her, because Hael shouted the name of the bus station like she wanted to make very sure he got it.

“We’ll be arriving in half an hour,” she informed him, matter-of-factly. “Take me somewhere nice for breakfast, because I’m starving.”

“Hael, what are you…?”

“We’re going into a tunnel, I’m losing you, bye!”

Castiel stared at his phone with a slight panic growing up in his stomach. He didn’t like what he was about to do, but given the circumstances, he saw no other choice.

“Hello? Aunt Amara?”

“Castiel!” Amara shouted on the other end of the line. She sounded on edge, even more so than usual, and by the way she slurred her next words, Castiel deduced she had started drinking very early: “I was just about to call you! Has Hael got in touch with you lately?”

He closed his eyes very slowly. It was just what he suspected. Hael had run away from home.

 

* * *

 

The bus station was pretty crowded, but it still wasn’t hard to localize Hael. He just had to look for a girl in a yellow dress and a blue suitcase that jumped from the bus like there were bouncing balls on her heels. She still saw him before he did: she waved her hand over her head and as soon as Castiel waved back, she launched herself into a run towards him, ignoring the glares of the people she had to push on her way towards him.

“Cas!” she shouted, throwing her arms around his neck to squeeze him into a hug. “I missed you so much!”

And despite his worries, despite the fact he was terrified for Aunt Amara’s reaction, Castiel had to admit he had missed her too.

Hael was five years younger than him, and they were so similar people constantly took her for his little sister: they shared the same blue eyes and dark hair, but Hael had higher cheekbones and a small nose that made her look like a little girl even with her eighteen years old. She was also more prone to smiling and a lot more talkative than Castiel ever was, and she had the ability to convey even the worse things in the tone of a joke that had happened to someone else.

For example, as soon as they were sitting in a coffee shop and before Castiel had the chance to ask any questions, she started telling him all about prom and how her boyfriend had left her in the middle of the dance floor. Any other teenage girl would be humiliated and sad by that, but to Hael, it was just one big joke.

“So I told him, ‘ _You know what, good riddance!_ ’,” she concluded, with a chuckle. “I’m better off without him, so what do I care if two seconds later she was making out with Annie Jones behind the punch bowl?”

She laughed, but Castiel knew her better than that. She was laughing, because if she didn’t, she would have been crying nonstop.

“Hael…”

“And then my mom was like: ‘ _Oh, but that’s better for you, you can focus on your career now! You’re going to be super a successful and rich surgeon and he’s going to come back to you begging on his knees_ ’,” Hael continued. She imitated her mother’s drunken slur so well Castiel couldn’t hold back an amused smile. “And I was like, yeah, that’s all fine and well, but I don’t want to fucking spend the summer in town where I can run into Henry and Annie Jones making out everywhere. So I decided, what the heck, I’m gonna catch a bus and go say hi to my favorite cousin.”

Castiel was pretty certain some other things had happened between point A and point B, but if Hael wasn’t willing to tell him about them, there was no point in pushing her.

“And I really appreciate that you thought of me,” he said, sincerely.

“There’s a ‘but’ coming, huh?”

“I just wished you had given me the heads up.” Castiel scratched the back of his neck, trying to come up with the most delicate way to put it.

“Why? You live alone, don’t you? Oh, and I know you work two jobs and all that,” Hael interrupted him before he could protest. “But you don’t have to worry about me. I can sleep on the floor. And it’s not like I came to drag you to a party every night or anything like that. I’m going to get a job for the summer, I’m going to buy my own food and…”

“Hael, Hael,” Castiel interrupted her. “That’s… things have changed a little since last time we spoke.”

It had actually been a little before that, but he was realizing now he had completely neglected to mention Meg and his living accommodations to his family. And he was about to pay dearly for it.

“You have a girlfriend?!” Hael shouted. Some of the other patrons on the coffee shop turned to look at her with disapproval while Castiel lowered his eyes in shame. “And you’re living with her? And Aunt Naomi knows nothing about this?!”

“Of course not,” Castiel sighed. “We haven’t been together that long. And I really, really like Meg.”

Hael nodded, comprehensively. It had been a running joke among the family that the fastest way to scare a girl away was to introduce her to Naomi and her stare of death and doom. Daphne had passed the test because she didn’t do or say anything that would specifically antagonize Naomi, but Castiel dreaded the day he’d have to face his mother and Meg in the same room.

But that wasn’t the issue right now. The issue was his teenage cousin didn’t immediately say _‘Well, this was a bad idea, I better go back home now’_. Instead, she kept making plans for the summer like there wasn’t a single thing in the world that could discourage her.

“Well, I can still sleep on the floor,” she insisted. “I’m little, and you know I don’t each much. I’m sure Maggie…”

“Meg.”

“That’s what I say: Meggie,” Hael corrected herself without missing a beat. Castiel prayed to all the gods he knew of she wasn’t going to call Meg that to her face. “I’m sure she’ll like me once she gets to know me.”

She emptied her coffee cup in one gulp under Castiel’s desperate stare, and then she smiled like she didn’t have a worry in the world.

“I’m ready!” she announced, standing up. “Let’s go, I’m dying to meet this girl!”

 

* * *

 

Castiel had time to send one warning text and didn’t dare to look at Meg’s reply when they were in the taxi back to Masters’ Ink. It was a luxury, he knew that, but it was going to be much faster than taking the city bus or the metro and he was going to be late for that evening’s rehearsal otherwise. It also had the advantage of having Hael distracted with her nose against the glass.

“That guy was wearing a feather boa!” she shouted, pointing out with a laugh. “Did you see him?”

Castiel had got used by then to people wearing strange costumes, especially the more they approached Meg’s and the Heaven and Hell’s neighborhood. But Hael’s laughter and interest was delightful, and it really was hard to come up with a reason to convince her to leave.

“This is so cool!” she laughed, reclining against the seat. “Oh, I can wait to find a nice coffee shop to work in or… how do you see me as a sales girl?”

Hael had never in her life had to work retail or a waiting job. As far as Castiel knew, Aunt Amara gave her everything she wanted. Hael joked it was due to a guilty conscience because of her divorce and how much she drunk. But the point was, she was extremely sheltered, and the city was going to eat her alive if she went out there on her own.

“Listen, Hael, maybe you should wait…”

“Oh, is it here?” she asked when the taxi stopped in front of Masters’ Ink. “That is so cool! Is she like, a metal chick? Like an artist or something?”

“Yeah, she’s… Hael!”

She was already running towards the door, dragging her suitcase behind her. Cursing under his breath, Castiel threw a bill at the driver (he would late come to notice it had been a fifty and not a twenty as he intended) and ran after his cousin. His whole staying in the Masters’ place depended on Tom not noticing how much he spent there, and he was pretty certain he was going to notice the ray of sunshine in your face that was Hael.

Sure enough when he managed to walk into the store, Hael was standing in front of the desk, her hand extended towards a scruffy, confused Tom who staring at her from behind the tattoo’s magazine he was reading.

“His cousin?” he repeated, with a slow blink.

“Yeah,” Hael answered. Her smile faltered a little as she dropped her hand. “Uh…”

“Why is your cousin here with her suitcase, Fred Astaire?” Tom asked, as soon as Castiel entered his peripheral vision.

“She… showed up unannounced,” Castiel replied, trying (and failing) to sound light about it. “Sorry, I hadn’t had the chance to find a place for her to stay…”

“Why doesn’t she stay at your own place?” Tom frowned.

“We’re going to go upstairs now,” Castiel said, grabbing Hael by the shoulders and gently guiding her away from Tom.

“Is he always this broody?” Hael asked, not low enough for Tom not to have heard that.

Castiel wasn’t sure what to answer, so he looked around in search for help. Norah had agreed to cover for him for a couple of hours, but he didn’t want to leave Hael alone with Tom and…

Meg emerged from her room. She had chosen a pair of ripped jeans with paint stains and short sleeved shirt, with her hair up in a pony-tail. She hadn’t even applied make-up or put on her high heel sandals. She looked a lot less fierce than she usually did, and Castiel had the distinct impression she was trying to make herself as non-threatening as possible.

“Hello, I’m Meg.”

Hael jumped to her feet and went to say hi with a kiss on each cheek. Meg was clearly taken aback by such enthusiasm, but she still managed to smile.

“Hello, nice to meet you! Castiel has told me a lot about you.”

“Has he?” Meg crooked an eyebrow.

“Nope, not at all, I just found out you existed,” Hael confessed, as she flailed down on the couch. “Thanks for letting me stay here. Is this a pullout couch? It’s okay if it’s not, I can handle it…”

Meg frowned in a gesture that made her look eerily similar to Tom, and she opened her mouth to protest.

“Wait, you do have a place, don’t you?” Tom’s voice came from the stairs. “You’re not just crushing here with us rent free and bringing all your relatives too, are you?”

Castiel didn’t have time to think of an answer before Tom was standing in front of him with a glare that indicated if he said anything that wasn’t exactly what he wanted to hear, Castiel would be punched in the face. It was amazing to think he had grown accustomed to the awkwardness of wearing a gold lamé thong while strange ladies shouted at him to shake his ass, but this situation was making him sweat profusely.

“Of course I’m not,” he lied, unconvincingly. “It’s just… look, Hael is going through some issues…”

“No, I’m not.”

“You lied to your mom that you were going to your dad’s house and then took a bus all by yourself without telling anyone you were coming here,” Castiel pointed out, thankful that they could divert the issue.

“You talked to my mom?” Hael cringed. “Why?”

“She was worried about you…”

“She’s evil incarnated!”

“She’s your mom!”

“Doesn’t mean she _isn’t_ evil incarnated.” Hael shrugged, and stood up with a sigh. “Look, if you didn’t want me to stay here with you, you could’ve just said so…”

“That isn’t what I meant. I’ll talk to you later,” he added, rising a finger when he noticed Tom getting ready to speak again.

“Wait, who’s downstairs?” Meg intervened. “Did you just leave the shop unattended to come see the drama up here?”

“Yes, well, it’s my house…”

“The house you can’t keep if we can’t pay the mortgage!” Meg pointed out, sauntering past Tom towards the stairs.

“What do you want? We always postpone finding a receptionist…!”

They kept arguing, but Castiel couldn’t make out what they were saying downstairs. He turned to Hael again.

“Listen…”

“I’m not going back home.” She crossed her arms as if that would put an end to the whole issue. “I’m staying here, I’m getting a job, and you can either help me or get out of my way.”

“But you’re going back home afterwards, aren’t you?” Castiel asked, knowing deep inside that he wasn’t going to win this argument. “You start pre-Med in September.”

“Yeah, I don’t think I’m doing that anymore.”

“What do you mean? Hael!”

But his cousin had already walked past him down the stairs. Meg and Tom had apparently quitted arguing upon the arrival of a client. The girl with bright red hair was sitting on the couch with Meg, going through one of the folders of designs. Tom was sitting at the desk, toying with some pencils and very pointedly not looking at his sister.

“Hey, I’ll be your receptionist,” Hael announced. Tom looked up very slowly, like he wasn’t certain if Hael was serious, but the girl just stood there, smiling like she’d just bestowed a gift upon him.

“Uh… you go behind the screen and I’ll be with you in a sec,” Meg told the redheaded girl. She obeyed as Castiel joined the other three, begging Tom wouldn’t say something insulting to Hael. He wasn’t exactly in the mood to kill his girlfriend’s brother. But luckily, Meg was being the voice of reason there: “I’m sorry, have you done anything like that before?”

“Nope, but I’m a fast learner.”

“Okay,” Meg scratched her neck and looked at Castiel. It was like she was asking his permission to let down his cousin, but honestly, she didn’t need to. The sooner Hael realized this wasn’t going to be as easy as she pictured, the sooner he could send her back to his aunt. “Well, I’m sorry, but maybe we could use someone with a little more experience…”

“You’re hired.”

Meg stopped mid-word and stared at her brother like he had just declared he had a foot-fetish of some kind. Castiel was doing the same, panicking when he saw the big grin appear on Hael’s face.

“Really?”

“Yeah, I mean, you only need to answer phone calls and write down names and dates,” Tom explained, with a shrug. “How much experience does someone need for that, honestly?”

“I can answer phones!” Hael promised. “Yes, I can do that, and I can fetch you drinks or magazines or anything you need…”

“That’ll be nice,” Tom nodded, approvingly. “We definitely need someone to help with all that stuff around here…”

“You can’t hire her!” Castiel protested.

“Why not?” Hael asked, frowning. “Cas, please, I only need them to give me one chance, I promise, I’m not going to screw it up…”

“Besides, I already hired her,” Tom pointed out. “And if she’s going to be crushing in our couch she might as well help around here.”

“Yes, that’s totally fair,” Hael agreed, nodding emphatically. “You can discount my rent from my salary, that way I won’t even have to pay you.”

“Practical girl,” Tom approved. “And cute. She’ll be perfect.”

“She’s too cute! She doesn’t even have any tattoos or…” Meg argued, and popped her head behind the screen. “Excuse me, could you come here for a second?”

The redheaded girl reappeared, with a very confused expression in her face.

“Would you come into a tats studio that had a receptionist like her?” Meg asked, grabbing Hael for the shoulders and pushing her in front of the client so she could take a good look at her.

“Uh…” the redheaded girl muttered, looking around like she wasn’t sure what answer were all those strange persons looking from her. “I mean… I wouldn’t have a problem, but then I’m a lesbian, so maybe I’m not the right person to ask.”

Tom and Meg stared at each other for a long moment, and then started arguing again: she was too young, she had to start somewhere, but she’d never had a job, but that matter very little because writing names down wasn’t rocket science. Hael interrupted now and then to support Tom’s position and agree that she was totally up for it, and if it was her aspect Meg wasn’t certain of, she was totally welcomed to give her a makeover, she wouldn’t mind at all.

“That’s not the point!” Meg exclaimed throwing her hands up in frustration.

“Well, then, what is it?”

The problem was Castiel. Tom had hired Hael because he knew that was going to irk Castiel and Meg was protesting because she was trying to be supportive and take his side, pointing out that Hael needed to go back home and go to college. But as the argument went on, Castiel knew they weren’t going to win this. Hael was convinced this was what she wanted to do, and knowing his cousin like he did, he could absolutely count on her getting away with hers.

And besides, the redheaded girl was growing fuzzier and fidgeting with her fingers nervously.

“Look, if you can work on me right now, that’s alright,” she said during a second when both Tom and Meg stopped shouting to take a breath. “I can come back some other time…”

“No, no, please,” Castiel said. The last thing he wanted was for Meg and Tom to lose a client because of his family. “I’m sorry, can everybody just… stop?”

The three others immediately went quiet and turned to him. Hael had an interrogating expression, like she couldn’t comprehend why Castiel wouldn’t support her on this, Tom was smiling smugly and Meg seemed worried, like she thought he would get mad at her from not stopping her brother.

“Listen, I have to go to work…” he started.

“Ah, yes, work.” Tom tilted his head. “That thing that gives you money and that you’re refusing your dear cousin here…”

“Don’t start again,” Meg groaned.

“We’re going to talk about this when I come back,” Castiel said. “Only Hael and I are going to talk about it,” he added when Tom opened his mouth to let out another quip.

“Fine,” Hael huffed. “But you're not going to convince."

Tom chuckled. “I like you.”

 

* * *

 

There was a pleasant surprise waiting for Castiel when he arrived at the club.

“Balthazar!”

His boss turned around to offer him a wide smile, like in the world could bother him now that he was back where he belonged.

“Well, hello, darling,” he said, and opened his arms wide. Castiel didn’t think twice: he let himself be wrapped in a tight hug that lasted several seconds. “How you’ve been?”

“I’m fine,” Castiel said.

He took a step backwards and watched Balthazar closely: he looked almost like his usual self, except there were more crinkles around his eyes, and he had let the fuzz in his cheek grown until it became a proper beard. Maybe it was to distract from the fact his hair no longer was the grey, messy curls he had met him with. He had cut most of it off and flattened what was left with gel. The result was that he looked cleaner and more elegant, but also… older.

“How are you?” he asked, because he didn’t dare to say ‘ _Are you going to be alright now?_ ’

“I am fabulous, as always,” Balthazar promised, with a wide grin. “I hope my absence didn’t worry you. I just needed to take some me time. But I’m back now and better than ever.”

Castiel may have been a little paranoid, but he had the sensation Balthazar avoided his eyes while he said that. Or maybe it was just his usual flair for the dramatics when he threw his hands in the air and spun around, almost like he wanted to show Castiel exactly how great he looked.

“Well, I’m glad to hear that,” he said, sincerely. “Things haven’t been the same without you around here.”

“And that’s why I’m here, to make sure you haven’t burned down my club,” Balthazar replied, patting Castiel in the cheek. “Now go the dress room and get ready. I haven’t had an interested Friday night in a while. Rudy, dear, can you make me a martini? You wouldn’t believe how thirsty I am right now.”

Castiel caught a glimpse of Benny putting the armchairs in place in the private rooms and popped his head through the door.

“How is he?” he asked. He didn’t need to clarify what or who he meant.

Benny shrugged, but the sad smile on his face told Castiel a lot more than his words did:

“He’s back. That’s enough for me.”


	15. Chapter 15

Castiel would never know how he did it, but it seemed that Balthazar’s mere presence was enough to get the club full like it hadn’t been in a while. Or maybe it was that the semester was over and an unexpected amount of girls just turned twenty-one that weekend. Whatever the reason, the party seemed to start a lot earlier that night. By midnight, the music was blasting, the alcohol was flowing and Castiel’s feet tingled from en encore performance of the group dance the public had requested through very enthusiastic screaming. Best of all, Balthazar stood on the stage, told jokes, made the clients blush and was all around his old eccentric, relentless self again. Like he had never left at all.

Castiel was tempted to text Meg and ask her to drop by to enjoy the mood, but he refrained. He didn’t like the idea of someone else having to explain to Hael what his night job was. Besides, Lucifer was around.

In the end, he was happy Meg wasn’t there for the major scandal that broke out just a few hours later.

He actually missed how it’d started, because he had just been requested for a private dance and that… well, that was awkward too, though for entirely different reasons.

“Hello,” he greeted the client with a smile before he even took a good look at her. “Are you ready for…?”

The sound of a loud belly laugh drowned out hi words and when he finally saw who the woman sitting in the armchair was, all the blood fled from his face.

“Oh, my God!” Nora exclaimed between chuckles. “It _is_ you! Oh, my God!”

Castiel’s first impulse was to run and hide in the bathroom, like he’d done when that horrible woman had tried to grab his butt. On the other hand, he had been the one to invite Nora to the club, so he really had no one to blame but himself that she was there. And also, as Meg kept reminding him, there was no reason to be ashamed of his night job.

“Well, hi,” he said, squaring his shoulders and recovering his smile. “How are you?”

Nora couldn’t answer, too busy bursting into laughter again.

“I’m so… I’m sorry,” she breathed, trying to muffle her giggles with her hand. “I’m sorry, it’s just… you’re wearing red boxers.”

“Yes,” Castiel asserted, looking down as if he needed confirmation for it. He actually liked those boxers, they were more comfortable than the golden ones and they didn’t leave his ass as exposed as those. “I am.”

“Oh, God.” Nora wiped her eyes. “Sorry. I… I never imagined I’d get to see you like that.”

“It comes with the territory,” Castiel explained, and Nora completed cracked up.

She also didn’t look anything like Castiel had seen her before: she had tied her dark blonde hair in an elaborated bun, leaving some locks to strategically fall on her forehead, and she’d done her make-up differently as she did when at work. The result was her lips seemed more voluptuous and her eyelashes longer, and that, combined with her outfit (a black sleeveless shirt with a generous cleavage and a tube skirt to match) indicated Castiel that coming to the club probably hadn’t been her original plan.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized again when she managed to get her chortles under control. “Really, you must think I came here to make fun of you.”

“Even if that were the case, I don’t mind.” He shrugged. But now that that was out of the way, it begged the question: “So, do you want me to dance or…?”

“Oh, geez, no.” Nora shook her head, but she was still smiling at least. “No, it’s just… it’d be too weird. Afterwards, I mean. I could never look you in the eye again.”

Castiel waited in silence, because it would have been rude to ask her point blank what she was there for then.

“I guess I wanted some company,” Nora answered to the unasked question. “I had a date tonight for the first time since… since I got pregnant with Tanya, to be honest with you.”

Tanya was six months old, if Castel recalled correctly, so it must have been easily over a year since Nora had last dated someone.

“Didn’t go well?”

“It was a complete bust,” she confirmed with a nod. “So I just figured I could have some fun on my own.”

“Absolutely, fun is what we provide here,” Castiel said. “Do you want me to get you some of the other guys? They are all very nice, I promise.”

Nora opened her mouth, but suddenly she frowned and looked over Castiel’s shoulder, as if she was expecting someone to come in through the door all of the sudden.

“Is it closing time?”

“No,” Castiel answered, but he immediately understood why she would ask that: the music outside had gone completely quiet, as if the party on the club had ended. Something was wrong, but as Benny didn’t barge in announcing something was on fire, he had no idea what it was. “Stay here, please.”

There was a woman practically shrieking some unintelligible words, and the closer he got to the front, the louder she got. By the time he crossed back into the bar area, he could even make out some of what she was saying:

“… you disgusting, lying motherfucker! Why would I ever…?!”

Castiel looked around for one of his coworkers to ask what was going on, but it didn’t need much of an explanation. The blonde woman was screaming a string of insults at the top of her lungs and apparently trying to scratch the eyes out of a very taken aback Lucifer, so much that he hadn’t even managed to take off the arm he had around the client he was obviously about to escort into the private rooms section. The only reason the blonde trying to kill him wasn’t succeeding was because Benny was holding her by the waist and was trying to drag her away. Castiel knew the bouncer could simply throw her over her shoulder and carry her out, but he must not have wanted to make a scene in front of the clients.

Not that the woman wasn't doing that just fine all by herself. Every single person in the club was staring at her, with expression that went from curiosity to second-hand embarrassment to open amusement. Even Ash was watching, his hand still on the mixer like he had forgotten he was supposed to put on some music to provide some sort of distraction for that sad display.

"How dare you?! You asshole!!" the blonde woman kept asking. "You're nothing but a piece of shit and...!"

Lucifer finally managed to react. He let go of the client's shoulder and raised his hands in the air in the universal defensive gesture.

"Honey, please," he tried to say. "I think you misunderstood the situation. We can talk in private..."

"WE DON'T NEED TO TALK IN PRIVATE!" she bellowed. "EVERY WOMAN IN THIS PLACE SHOULD KNOW WHAT A DISGUSTING PIECE OF SHIT YOU ARE!"

"Lilith, please..."

Lilith. So she was Lucifer's wife. Despite the scandal she was causing, Castiel couldn't help but to feel a little bit sorry for her.

"LET GO OF ME, YOU BRUTE...!"

"Only if you promise to calm down first," Benny promised as calmly as he could. "Please, ma'am..."

Balthazar walked past Castiel so fast he only realized he was joining up in the conflict when he was already standing in between Lilith and Lucifer.

"Lilith, sweetheart, long time no see," he greeted her like this was a social meeting and she hadn't been screaming she was going to commit bloody murder in the middle of his club.

Lilith stopped wriggling, but her clear eyes were still sparkling with rage as she glared at Balthazar first and then at Lucifer.

"Oh, don't you dare," she growled, pointing a perfectly manicured fingernail at him. "Don't you dare try to play nice with me! You're probably the one who called him over!"

"Believe me, dear, I'd never had done anything that could possibly harm you or your marriage," Balthazar said, with his biggest, most pleasant smile. Obviously he was still trying to defuse the situation with kindness, but the way he kept shifting his weight from one foot to the other indicated just how awkward this whole deal was for him too. "Why don't you both come to my office and we can have ourselves a nice civilized chat about all this, mmh?"

Lilith looked at him like she was still thinking about the various ways in which she could rip off his throat, but she nodded. Lucifer still seemed to be looking for the nearest exit, but Balthazar patted him in the arm before he could move.

"You're excused for the rest of the night," the boss told him.

And Castiel didn't know what it was, because Balthazar's tone had been polite as usual, but something about (maybe the fact he didn't use a pet name) sounded so cold and angry he made a mental note never to piss him off. For now, he was jumping on stage and flashing his usual charming smile.

"Excuse us, ladies, you'll have to excuse us. This... little incident was completely out of our hands..."

"Woah," Nora said while Benny escorted Lilith towards the back of the club. "Is it always this... eventful here?"

Castiel opened his mouth to tell her that no, not really, but he didn't get to. Apparently, when there was drama at the Heaven at Hell, it was always so over the top everybody was left with whiplash.

"And if you would all go to the bar, Rudy will be glad to serve a complimentary drink..."

Balthazar's attempt to wipe out the memory of that night's even was tragically cut short when a Lilith, freed from Benny's grasp, bolted onto the stage, half pushed, half tackled him and wrestled with him for the microphone.

"You want to know the truth, ladies?" she said, sarcasm dripping from every single one of her words. "That man you know as Lucifer is actually the fucking devil. He will hit on you, fuck you and then come back to me begging for forgiveness and promising he won't do it again. But I'm not going to believe him anymore and neither should you!"

Having got that out of her chest, Lilith threw the microphone at Balthazar's chest, leaped off the stage as if she had been doing so her entire life and marched out of the club, leaving every single person there in stunned silence.

"You go, girl!" somebody shouted after her, and a second later, every single woman present burst into applause and cheering, though Lilith never knew about it, because she had already crossed the door without looking back.

"Oh, yes, yes, that was very brave," Balthazar said, grinning wide and still pretending they could shrug off the entire incident. "Lucifer, you're fired, by the way."

The crowd cackled with glee, like that was the perfect cherry on top of the social punishment Lucifer had just been put through. Castiel looked at Nora, who was red in the face from laughing, and he was glad that at least someone could get some enjoyment from the confusion and rudeness of it all.

"Please, I beg you to still enjoy the night with us if you're not ready to go home. For now, here's our very own Samandriel to serenade you with some ballads before the party goes on."

Alfie practically stumbled onto the stage in his dress pants and white shirt with a bow tie. Castiel got the distinctive impression someone had pushed him from behind the curtains. The kid recovered quickly, though. He waved at the audience and made a gesture at Ash. A piano solo invaded the club and the clients scream in approval. Alfie mouthed the word "Really?", but then smiled again and began singing:

_At first I was afraid_

_I was petrified_

_Kept thinking that I could never live_

_Without you by my side..._

"This is amazing!" Nora chortled as all the women in the club started singing along, and some even got up and dance. "How do you not find your other job incredibly dull?"

"Well, you know." Castiel scratched the back of his neck. "Dullness is a welcomed change after all this intensity. Why don't you go have that free drink?" he added. "I'll be with you in a moment."

"Damage control, huh? Gotcha."

Nora obeyed, apparently eager to join in the chorus that was probably remembering every single jerk ex-boyfriend or husband that had ever wronged them:

_... No, no, not I_

_I will survive_

_For as long as I know how to love_

_I know I'll stay alive..._

The truth was that Benny and Balthazar had proven time and again they were more than capable of doing damage control for themselves, so Castiel wasn't really needed there. If he was being honest with himself, it might have been better for the business if he had stayed out there and chatted up some of the clients, but they seemed perfectly entertained, and besides... he was eager to see Lucifer get further humiliated. Yes, Jesus would be very disappointed in him, but he was pretty sure Jesus was already disappointed in him for a myriad of other reasons.

This time around, he got there just as the drama was starting. And apparently all the other dancers had had the same idea, because they were all there. Dean had even brought a bag of peanuts to chew on while they watched. Benny was standing there as well, probably to prevent any violence from happening, but he was ostensibly analyzing his nails as if they were the most interesting thing in the entire world.

“Care to explain what that was all about?” Balthazar was asking, arms crossed over his chest and looking at Lucifer like his eyes were going to pierce right through his skull.

Lucifer was completely dressed up and had a duffle bag near his feet. Clearly, he had intended to weasel out of the club before his boss would confront him. He was smiling apologetically, but somehow Castiel didn’t believe that was going to save him.

“Look, I know it looks bad…”

“Oh, no, you have no idea how it looked,” Balthazar said. He wasn’t screaming, but his voice was seething with so much rage he might as well had been speaking at the same volume Lilith was when she was threatening to scratch Lucifer’s eyes out. “Your _wife_ showed up, which already jeopardizes the fantasy that you’re willing and available to please these ladies. She declared you slept with clients, which makes us look like a brothel, _and_ she made you look like an asshole in front of everybody, which totally kills your persona.”

“To be fair, his persona was already kind of an asshole,” Michael commented in a whisper.

Castiel accepted a handful of peanuts when Dean passed him the bag.

“I know, I know,” Lucifer looked at the ground, contrite. “And I know you’re mad, but…”

“You have no idea,” Balthazar interrupted him. It seemed he was keeping his arms folded because otherwise he might just straight up strangle Lucifer. “I am furious, and you would do well to stop spouting your shitty excuses right about now.”

Lucifer immediately clenched his jaw and took a defensive step backwards, but apparently, Balthazar had finished saying what was on his mind.

“Get out of my sight,” he said. “And don’t bother coming to work next week.”

“Balthazar, come on…”

Balthazar turned his back on him and Benny stood between the two men.

“You heard the chief,” he said. “Move it.”

For a second, Lucifer seemed to consider pushing Benny aside and running after Balthazar to keep pleading with him. But although they were at least the same height, Benny was a lot bulkier and it would have been insane to try and fight with him when he was following Balthazar’s direct orders.

“Don’t worry, Satan,” Dean commented, still happily chewing on his peanuts. “I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“Yes, don’t you work at this off-Broadway show?” Sam added. “Like, you don’t even need this job at all, right?”

“You probably don’t need wifey’s couch to crash in either,” Dean taunted him. “If she hasn’t changed the locks by the time you get back there, anyways.”

Lucifer huffed at them, but didn’t bother to answer. He picked up his duffle bag and marched towards the back door.

“Good riddance!” Michael exclaimed once it closed behind him.

Castiel felt the impulse to clap, but Benny interrupted them before they could start cheering again.

“Go do your jobs!” he told them. “Come on, I don’t want to see your faces here until closing time.”

“Ah, come on, let us have some happy times!” Dean protested.

“It is not very nice to say that when one of our coworkers has fallen in disgrace,” Gadreel said. “That considered, I do believe the occasion calls for some celebration.”

Benny pushed the five of them towards the club. “Come on,” he insisted, and when they all groaned in protest, he sighed: “We’ll celebrate after hours, okay?”

“I knew you had it in you!” Dean commented, while the others hooted in agreement.

Castiel asked Gadreel to come with him and found Nora drinking by the counter.

“Hello again,” Castiel asked. “This is my coworker, Angelus.”

“Oh, sounds dangerous,” Nora giggled. By the empty glasses in front of her, it was clear she was already a little bit tipsy.

“I could be if you wish to,” Gadreel said, leaning closer to her with a big smile. “Icarus here tells me you’re interested in dance?”

“Oh, no, no.” Nora shook her head. “I don’t think… I really enjoyed it here, but I might head home now.”

Apparently, many women had the same thought as Nora, as if after the scene Lilith had caused the party had reached its peak and now it was slowly dying down. Alfie was still singing on the stage, and according to the clock on the wall behind Rudy, it was still another hour or so until they had to interrupt them to make their final group presentation. The list for private dances had probably closed already, but Castiel was sure Rudy would make an exception for Nora if he asked him to.

“Are you sure?”

“Pretty sure, yeah,” Nora replied, and she laughed again. “Yeah, I’d had more than enough excitement for the night.”

“Well, that’s too bad. I would have loved to dance for you,” Gadreel said with a flirtatious wink. “But maybe some other time.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Nora said. And maybe it was the flashing lights, but Castiel was pretty sure she had blushed. “Thanks.”

Castiel waited until she paid for her drinks and then accompanied her to the door.

“You don’t have to do that,” she said. She was still talking a little louder than she needed to, even though there the music wasn’t as loud and they could have a normal conversation.

“Yes, I do,” Castiel replied. “I don’t want you to get randomly tackled by a scorned wife.”

“Right.” Nora grinned. “Does that happen a lot?”

“It’s the first time it happens since I’m here.”

“I can’t be easy, right?” Nora commented. Castiel tilted his head, unsure what she meant. “I mean, for you guys to have personal relationships.”

“I don’t have that problem,” Castiel said. “Meg knows all about my job.”

“Yeah, but doesn’t she ever get jealous?” Nora kept asking. “That every night you’re here flaunting your… red boxers for other girls.”

“No,” Castiel said. He realized it had been a little too fast, so he backtracked: “I mean, I don’t… I don’t think so? She’s never said anything to me.”

Nora looked at him like she thought he was unbelievably clueless, or maybe that was Castiel projecting how he felt onto her.

“Well, anyways,” she said. “Thank you for distracting me. See you on Monday.”

“Yes… text me when you get home!” he remembered to shout after her.

Nora showed her a thumbs up over her shoulder and disappeared into the darkened street.

Castiel returned inside, brought drinks for the clients, smiled, flirted and danced in the final presentation like he did every night. But he wasn’t really paying attention to any of it. He felt the sudden urge to go home immediately and have a serious talk with Meg. Or maybe aggressively make out with her to assure her he would never do something as awful as Lucifer had.

 

* * *

 

He figured he would find the apartment atop of the studio in the most profound silence, but he was wrong. As he climbed the stairs, he heard some whispers and muffled laughter and was surprised to discover a little lamp still glimmering next to the TV table.

Meg and Hael were on the couch, sat over some sheets and covers that Castiel recognized as Meg's. His girlfriend was wearing one of her oversized shirts and what he recognized as one of his boxers, probably just the latest ones that she had decided to steal from him. Hael apparently had brought long pajama slacks that couldn’t be comfortable to sleep with in the summer. They were talking with their heads together clearly trying to be discreet even though Tom's door was closed.

"Hey," Castiel greeted them.

"Hi, you're back!" Hael said standing up to greet him with a hug. "Why do you smell like baby oil and booze?"

It was a fair question, but Castiel couldn't answer it without revealing to his young cousin some of the harsher realities of having to work in the city.

"Why are you still up so late?" he countered.

"It's not that late, it's only... woah, five o'clock," Meg said, raising a surprised eyebrow after checking her cellphone. "Okay, I guess we really need get some sleep now."

Hael chuckled like 'getting some sleep' had become a private joke between them in the few hours he had left them alone.

"Okay, yeah, I guess I should," she confirmed, going back to the couch with a beam on her face. "Tomorrow's my first day at my new job, after all."

"We still have to talk about that," Castiel sighed, already starting to resign himself to the fact that conversation might never come to happen.

"Goodnight!" Hael waved happily as them as Meg grabbed his hand and led him into the bedroom.

“You know, you really don’t need to worry about her,” Meg commented once the door behind was closed. “She’s really a smart girl.”

“Oh, no,” Castiel sighed. “She won you over, didn’t she?”

Meg threw her hands around his neck, and stood on the tip of her toes to kiss him instead of answering.

“Oh, you do smell like baby oil and booze.” She scrunched up her nose in confusion. “Didn’t you take a shower before coming back?”

That was another question Castiel didn’t feel like answering, so instead, he grabbed Meg by the waist and spun with her until they fell on the bed. She wrestled with him, her face red from laughing and trying to position herself over him, but Castiel immobilized her and kissed her neck.

“You know, something weird happened today at the club,” he said. “With Lucifer.”

Meg’s playful expression froze entirely, and Castiel was about to take it back when she cleared her throat and asked:

“What about him?”

“Oh, just some bullshit that went down,” Castiel said, already regretting bringing it up. “We don’t have to talk about it…”

She inched away from him and sat up, bringing one of the pillows to her chest.

“Come on, tell me while you get ready,” she insisted. “I want to know.”

“Well,” Castiel turned around and took off his shirt and pretend the issue wasn’t as touchy as it actually was. “First, Nora showed up…”

He told the story in between brushing his teeth and folding his clothes for the following day. All the time he tried to keep a cheery, off-handed tone, like he had no idea if Meg was interested in it, personally, but he thought it was an interesting topic. A couple of times he offered to stop again or talk about something else, but Meg encouraged him to go on. Apart from that, she didn’t say a single word.

“And that was all,” Castiel concluded, as he moved the sheets aside to slip underneath them. “Weird, huh?”

He stared at Meg’s face, almost waiting for her to agree with him, turn off her lamp and wish him goodnight with her back turned on him. Instead, he got a smirk and an amused chortle.

“No, not weird at all, actually,” she said. “I’m surprised it took Lilith this long to catch up.”

“Why?” Castiel frowned. “What do you mean?”

Meg turned off the lamp, but she didn’t tell him to go to sleep immediately. She laid her head against his chest, like she wanted to be near him while she told him this but didn’t want him to see her face.

“I used to sleep with him,” she confessed. “I don’t know if you knew that.”

“He… made some insinuations,” Castiel admitted. He started caressing her hair, because he wanted to apologize for not mentioning it, but he wasn’t sure if she preferred it that way. “I didn’t bring it up because… well, I didn’t think it was relevant. And according to him, all that happened was that you got an unrequited crush on him.”

Meg cuddled closer to him, but her voice dripped with her usual sarcasm when she spoke again:

“Of course he would say that. It’s probably the same story he told her. He does that.”

“What was the story he told you?” he asked.

Meg shifted a little, like she was uncomfortable. Castiel was about to take back the question when she said:

“He told me he knocked up Lilith in college. That her family was rich and they forced him to marry her, but in the end it didn’t even matter because she had a miscarriage. That he didn’t know why they were even still together, that he’d wanted to divorce her for some time and now that he’d met me, he finally had the courage to do it and we’d just have to wait a little bit until that was done to be together for real. Lies upon lies,” she sighed. “I don’t know if Lilith was ever pregnant or not, but her family does have a lot of money. Luc is a miser with delusions of grandeur. He thinks he should be a great famous dancer and get paid accordingly, but until then, he needs Lilith’s money to carry the life he thinks he deserves, you know what I mean?”

“He was never going to leave her,” Castiel guessed.

“It took me months to realize that.” Meg buried her face in his neck even deeper. “And when I broke up with him, it fucked me up. He said he was as good as it got for me and nobody else was ever going to want me.”

Castiel held on to her a little tighter, feeling the urge to march up to wherever Lucifer was at that very moment and rearrange his features with a well-placed punch.

Meg’s face came to rest on Castiel’s cheek.

“But it doesn’t matter. He was wrong. I met a really good guy after him and he treats me very well. It’s funny. To be honest, I only wanted to sleep with him, but it ended up being much more than that.”

“I’m sure he feels very lucky to be with you,” Castiel replied.

His lips found her forehead and rested there. He wanted to say something else, three little words that hanged in the air like an unspoken oath, a pledge he wanted to make to her.

But it might have been too heavy to say that after everything Meg had just told him. It had been vulnerable and raw and she hated those kinds of talks, so saying what he wanted to say then, with the lights off after a conversation she just had because he had brought up the topic… it just didn’t feel right.

“And you don’t mind that he flaunts his red boxers every night in front of dozens of other women?” he asked instead.

Meg started laughing uncontrollably.

“What? Are you serious?” she asked, in between chuckles. She passed a leg over Castiel and next thing he knew, she was curled up like a cat on top of his chest. “Of course I don’t mind how many girls see him. Because at the end of the day, he comes home to me and I’m the only one who gets to touch.”

She pinched his ass a little bit to reinforce her statement and it was Castiel’s turn to laugh.

“That’s good,” he said, pressing her tighter against him. “I’m glad we had this talk.”

“Yeah.” Meg’s lips pressed against his neck, her breath tickling on his skin. “But I don’t feel like talking anymore.”


	16. Chapter 16

Life at Master's Ink became slightly more chaotic with Hael there. Not because of Hael herself, of course. She was a good girl, after all, and she didn't get in troubles (that Castiel knew of, at least), but it was very hard to convince Aunt Amara of that.

"I don't care if she's doing very well, I want her to come home!" she screamed on Castiel's phone (because Hael flat out refused to pick up hers when she saw her mother's number on the screen). "You have to tell her to come home!"

"Believe me, I've tried," Castiel sighed. "But she is of age, and she doesn't want to, what am I supposed to do? Blindfold her and get her into a bus?"

"If it must come to that," Aunt Amara said, because much like his father, she had no idea or simply didn't like acknowledging when other people were being hyperbolic. "At least tell me she has abandoned this preposterous idea of not going to college."

Castiel didn't say anything, because he couldn't tell her that.

"I'm not doing it," she replied whenever he brought up the topic. "I'm not going to pre-med. I don't want to."

It wasn't easy for Castiel to remember he was actually arguing with a legal adult that could make her own choices, because in those occasions, she sounded a lot like a little girl protesting her bedtime.

"Hael, you have to..."

"No, I don't," she insisted. "You didn't go to college."

"Yes, but I went to several academies and I trained myself in what I wanted to do instead," Castiel pointed out. "There must be something you want to do, at least to get your mom of our backs?"

Hael pursed her lips and scrunched up her nose, like she was thinking about it deeply and carefully.

"Nah, I don't think so," she concluded.

Tom laughed from somewhere in the kitchen and strolled by the couch.

"That's my girl," he said, extending his hand for Hael to give her a high five. "College dropouts for the win."

“Technically, she can’t be a college dropout if she never went to college in the first place,” Meg intervened, without even looking out from her sketchbook.

“There you go, I’m not a college dropout,” Hael said, with a wide grin.

“Oh, so you’re saying you can’t fail if you never even try?” Castiel asked, tired of the discussion already.

“Exactly!” Hael said, and stood up to go downstairs. “Hey, Tom, can you show me how to do the airbrush tattoos again?”

Castiel felt the frustration mountain up in his stomach until Meg hugged him from behind and left a kiss underneath his ear.

“Give her time,” she suggested. “She’ll figure it out.”

The question was, would she figure it out before Aunt Amara lost her very scarce patience and marched in there to drag Hael back home? And more importantly, would it be Castiel’s neck she would break when she noticed the green strands in her daughter’s hair and the little heart beneath her right eye?

“It’s temporary, chill!” she argued when Castiel saw it and almost fainted on the couch. “Come on, you know the policy: we don’t tattoo faces or genitals.”

“What do you mean ‘we’?” Castiel exclaimed. “You only pick up the phone and write down dates!”

“Well, yes, but I figured it would save everybody a lot of time if I inquire what the clients want done over the phone.” Hael shrugged. “That way I can calculate how much time it would take Tom or Meg to do it and we don’t have to give them appointments at the same hour, unless both of them are available. We work more efficiently that way.”

Castiel had to admit, to his chagrin, that that made a lot of sense.

And the way they gave appointments also wasn’t the only thing Hael changed in the house.

"So, I took the liberty to reorganize your accounts and the money intake against the expenses and I really do believe that if you follow my plan - that's in the last page by the way - you could definitely optimize the way you spend your money here."

Tom stared at the notebook Hael had just deposited in his hands like it was a bomb of some kind.

"It's... it's color coded," he pointed out, touching the little papers poking out from the pages as if he wasn't quite sure what to make of them.

"Well, of course it's color coded," Hael said. "That way will be a lot easier to find your bills. Honestly, I don't think just stuffing them in the desk's drawer and leaving them there is a good organization method."

Castiel was in the kitchen listening to the whole exchange, and although he was pretty sure it wasn't a good sign that Hael was taking her work so seriously, he still exchanged a look with Meg and they both chuckled under their breaths.

"What are you two laughing about?" Tom asked.

"Nothing," Castiel replied. He grabbed the plates and set them on the table with as much calm as he could. "Nothing at all. I was just thinking I should have probably warned you that Hael organized all of our families' socks by color and size this one time we went camping together."

"We only had two tents," Hael argued. "It was necessary so nothing would get lost."

"I think it's a blessing," Meg commented. She put the platter with the lasagna they had cooked in the middle and stared at Tom with a smirk and a hand on her hip. "Do you think you could take a look at my student loans later? I never understand those things."

Hael's eyes lit up like Meg had just asked her to be her bridesmaid at her and Castiel's wedding.

"Absolutely! I'll be happy to. Do you have any idea how much your interest rate is? Because it could be really a bad thing if it..."

"Come eat dinner," Castiel ordered.

"Yes, and please, no math talking until we're done," Tom begged.

Castiel had assumed that Meg only said the student loans thing so she could be nice to Hael. That's why he was surprised when he came back from the store the following Saturday afternoon and found them both sitting in front of a mountain of papers spread on the table that they were trying to organize. Well, Hael was at least. Meg just stared at them with a disheartened expression.

"Do we really have to go through all of them? I'm pretty sure I already paid at least half of these..."

"And since you did, you should have the receipts," Hael replied, cheerfully. "And the best way to be sure is to track them down and stapling them together. That way they won't get lost and you can be absolutely sure if you paid them."

Meg shot a desperate look at Castiel, but he escaped into the room to find his bag and flee to the club before Hael found out he worked there and suggested they should dance according to their height and body weight or something of the sorts.

"And honestly, don't you ever check your mail?" Hael was chastising her when he came back out. "Look at this, this isn't even open!"

"I don't open most of the things that come with the college's logo," Meg confessed. "I assume it's junk, invitations to go to one of the professor's sculpture reveal or something snobby like that."

"But you could be missing something very important!" Hael insisted, as she ripped the envelope open. "This one, for example, is asking you to confirm your participation in the exhibition of Works by Advanced Students next month... oh, you only have a couple of days."

Castiel glanced at them right in time to see Meg snatching the letter from Hael's hand.

"It doesn't matter," she said, as she dismissively threw it into the bin strategically placed next to them for that purpose. "Like I told you, snobby shit."

"You didn't tell me you were participating in an exhibition," Castiel commented. Meg shifted in her seat awkwardly.

"That's because I'm not." She got up and turning his back on him. "I signed up because my professor liked one of my paintings, nag me into it, but it's just too much work..."

"Meg." Castiel walked towards the kitchen, because he knew Meg wouldn't have that conversation unless she was literally cornered into it. "That's a great opportunity for you, you shouldn't just throw it away..."

"Hey, I didn't ask for your opinion, did I?" she snapped at him. "Aren't you late for your gig?"

Castiel blinked at her, surprised. They didn't fight. They were very different and didn't agree about a ton of trivial stuff, like whether Castiel should take up half of the underwear drawer or if he should have one of his own. But they didn't get mad at each other, and they didn't fight. And he knew Meg was very sensitive and very perfectionist about her art, but she had never reacted like that before.

Unsure what to do, Castiel decided the best course of action was to back off.

"Okay," he said, taking a couple of steps towards the stairs. "Uh... I'll see you when I come back."

"Yeah, I guess," Meg muttered. "Hael, I'm done with that shit. You figure it out and let me know how bad it is."

"O... kay," Hael replied as Meg closed the door to her room. His cousin turned to him and mouthed _'What just happened?_ '

Castiel didn't know either. But whatever it was, it threw him off his game and he didn't have as many private dances as other nights.

"Go home, Cas," Benny told him at around two in the morning, after another woman called off the dance after five minutes. "You clearly don't want to be here. Go, I'll cover you with Balthazar."

"Are you sure that's okay?" Castiel asked, nervously. Now that Balthazar was showing up at the club again, it just didn't seem right to bolt like that. "I wouldn't want to..."

"He's busy trying to see if he can find someone to replace Lucifer, anyway," Benny insisted. "He won't even notice you're gone."

That wasn't quite true and Castiel should have known it. He should have known Balthazar knew everything that went on in his club, even if he wasn't there to witness it himself.

The door of his office opened just as Castiel was walking by.

"Darling?" his boss called out.

Castiel froze right were he was. He considered lying, but since he was dressed up and had his bag with him, even a blind man could've seen he was trying to sneak out.

"Hey, Balt," he greeted him, trying to sound innocent anyway. "I'm sorry, I was just... there's a thing I have to deal with at home, with my girlfriend," he told Balthazar in the end. He would have known if Castiel wasn't telling the truth anyway. "I'm really sorry I'm leaving early..."

"Say no more." Balthazar raised a hand to shush him. "Go deal with it, before she comes and forces you to deal with it here."

Castiel tried to laugh at the joke, but it was pretty obvious Balthazar was still angry at that stunt.

"So, umh... have you heard from Lucifer again?" he asked, because now he was trapped, he might as well make small talk about a guy he detested. Nice going. He really needed to get his mind together.

"No, I think it's better for my blood pressure that it remains that way, wouldn't you agree?"

Castiel nodded in agreement and turned around to leave before his mouth could get him into even more trouble.

"Cas," Balthazar called, he stopped again to look at him. It was so strange he called him anything but his full name or a pet name that he couldn't help but to wonder if he had been drinking. But Balthazar looked perfectly fine as he leaned against the doorway. "Did I ever tell you how far you've come? You're no longer that penniless shy boy that came begging me for a job. You've grown a lot and I'm sure you'll grow even more."

Was everybody just dead set on baffling him that day? Balthazar smiled at Castiel's disorientation.

"Just thought I should tell you."

"Thank you," Castiel said and he meant it. It was so rare to get a genuine, sarcasm-free from him he wasn't sure how to react. "I really appreciate that."

"Now run along, darling." Balthazar dismissed him with a gesture of hi his hand. "I'm sure dear beautiful Meg is just dying to have you back with her."

Castiel doubted it very much, but he walked back to Master’s Ink quickly nonetheless.

Hael was sleeping for once when he arrived. That was an occurrence not to be taken lightly, because she was usually up with Meg waiting for him to come home. The only reason the studio was open in the morning at all was because Tom was up early and because they had enough coffee hoarded in the apartment to survive a couple of apocalypses.

Castiel tiptoed past her and open the door to their room (when it had stopped being simply Meg's room and turned into theirs was something he couldn't pinpoint). He didn't know what he expected walking in. Maybe that Meg would be in bed with the lights off, pretending to sleep to not talk to him. Maybe that she'd be up and fuming and ready to pick up a fight for Castiel telling her what she should do with her art.

He didn't expect her to be sitting at the edge of the bed, with her chin resting on her hand and staring intently at a canvass in front of her. She was wearing her pajamas and her silky robe, which indicated he had the intention to go to bed, but at the last moment she had changed her mind and decided she just needed to stare at that canvass right there, for what might have seen hours.

She was so concentrated she didn't look up at him until he was several steps into the bedroom.

"You're home early." She frowned.

"Yeah," Castiel confirmed. "I, uh... I don't like the way I left things..."

"You mean 'cause I screamed at you and was a complete bitch?"

"Meg, I would never..."

"I know you would never," she interrupted him. "Don't you think that's weird? We've been together for months and I don't think we've fought even once. Not for something important. Why? Why do we get along so well?"

"Is... is us getting along a bad thing?" Castiel tilted his head, confused.

"Yes," Meg replied bluntly. "Couples fight, Cas. And because we don't, ever, when we actually do fight, it's going to be ugly."

Castiel could have said a lot of things. He could have said Meg was feeling that way because of her bad past experiences, he could say he didn't actually know what was the appropriate amount of fighting for a couple to do, since this was only his second serious relationship. He could have said he was crazy about her and didn't want to ever do or say something that might hurt her.

He could have said he loved her. But Meg would have dismissed that as an easy copout and not a real reason they weren't fighting, and that would have cheapened the moment.

"Okay," he said instead. He sat on the bed next to her and put an arm around her waist. "Maybe we can pretend we had an ugly fight, and now we're making up with each other. That way it'll be easier to apologize when the ugly fighting starts."

"I'm not sure that's how it works," Meg sighed, but she leaned forwards to touch his forehead with hers. "Whatever, I'll go first. I'm sorry about... the thing I did. I won't do it again."

"And I'm sorry I said the thing I said," Castiel answered. "I shouldn't have. Can you forgive me?"

"Yes," she whispered, and moved her face so Castile could give her a light kiss on the side of the lips.

"Do you feel better?"

"Well, other my constant existential fear and usual feelings of inadequacy, I guess," she replied, burying her face in his neck.

"You're not inadequate, Meg."

Meg just snuggled deeper against him, so it was clear she wasn't in the mood to talk about it. Castiel held her close and glanced at the canvass in front of her. And once again, he wondered how it was possible that she was so talented and brilliant that everybody could see it except for her.

The canvass was a painting of Icarus. He knew that, because he had obviously been the model for it. But Meg hadn't just used his back for it; she had drawn him completely naked, in the style of old classic paintings. His back muscles and his ass were exposed for the viewer with a pair of great white wings attached to his arms by leather bounds so detailed he had no trouble imagining the texture of it. But Icarus wasn't falling; in fact, the angle seemed to indicate he was soaring higher, his eyes set on the rising sun and the rosy sky right in front of him. She had also put a lot of detail into the sea, a bright, sparkling blue vastness awaiting for the young man - for him, to fall. It was actually so realistic Castiel felt a little sick.

"I never showed it to you complete, did I?" Meg asked, when she realized what Castiel was looking at.

"No, I don't think you did," Castiel replied. "Meg, it's beautiful."

"My professor thought so, too," she explained, finally moving away from Castiel to look at the canvass again. "She said she was convinced I was a Renaissance’s painter reincarnated or something like that. And that's when she invited me to be part of the exhibition. I said no, initially, but she insisted and I ended up saying yes and promising I would make four more of these paintings with Greco-Roman themes for it. It was going to be my thing and whatnot. I was just trying to get her off my back."

Castiel could understand that. He had, on more than occasion, agreed to something his mother asked him to do just so that she wouldn't keep insisting.

"You know, there are two parts of the Icarus myth?" he asked, lifting a hand to run his fingers through her hair. "Most people know that Icarus fell because he flew too high, but they ignore the second part. His father had also warned him not to fly too low, too close to the ocean, because the salt and the water could destroy his wings just as much as the sun could."

"That's pretty obscure. How the hell do you know that?" Meg asked, a little smirk showing up on her lips. That sounded a lot more like his Meg, so Castiel was relieved.

"Back when we had just started dating and you said you liked Classic mythology, I read as much of it as I could find," Castiel confessed. "Well, as much of it as I could find on my phone using the Heaven and Hell's wi-fi connection. I wanted to woo you."

Meg shook her head.

"I read about famous dancers that had been members of the Men of Letters," she admitted. "It never came up in conversation because you're not nearly as pretentious as I am."

"You're not pretentious..."

"I'm an Art student, Cas."

That was an irrefutable argument. Castiel chuckled a little, and then Meg laughed out loud before pushing him and the next thing they knew, they were rolling on the bed, a tangle of limbs and lips searching for each other. They wrestled until Meg was on top of him, straddling him with a smile that was defiant and inviting at the same time.

"Promise me you won't fly too low," he begged.

Meg intertwined her fingers with his and placed them above his head.

"Only if you promise me the exact same thing."

Castiel kissed her the minute she leaned close enough for him to do that. Because she could have demanded any promise from him, and he knew he would have gladly made it.

 

* * *

 

"Oh, come on, it has to be somewhere."

Castiel kept going through the pages in his hand without finding anything that remotely looked like what they were looking for. Of course, it wasn't exactly an easy task when all he could count on was the light from his cellphone's screen.

"Are you certain it was in here?" he asked. "Perhaps Tom took it out with the rest of the trash."

"Like Tom ever takes out the trash when I ask him to," Meg replied, with a huff of frustration.

Castiel was sure they were being silent as they could, but he saw a movement out of the corner of his eye, and a second later, the kitchen light was on. A groggy Hael was standing next to the counter, rubbing her eyes and looking at them with suspicion.

"What are you doing?" she groaned.

"We're... looking for something..."

"Do you have any idea where the invitation for the exhibition could be?" Meg asked, exasperatedly returning a bunch of papers into the bag she had just emptied.

"Oh, that." Hael yawned again, but the grin in her face had to the epitome of satisfaction, like she knew exactly that moment would come. "I never threw it away."

 

* * *

 

"I don't know about that, Cas."

"Please, Dean. Meg has promised she will pay you the full fee, same as she would pay a professional model."

Dean sighed as he put on his jacket. It seemed the idea didn't quite convinced him, but he really had no reason to protest it other him not wanting to do it.

"Okay, fine," he said. "But we're going to be allowed to move, right? That whole standing in place for hours and hours..."

"That won't be necessary. Meg will take pictures," Castiel explained. "But you would need to take off your clothes."

"Dude, my job is to take off my clothes," Dean pointed out as they walked out of the dressing room and into the silent hallway. "Or at least it will be until my pain in the ass little brother graduates next year."

The other guys had already agreed to Castiel's proposal and gone home. Even Ash and Rudy apparently had finished cleaning the bar earlier and bolted out. The only ones left were the two of them and Benny, who was closing in the front. Wednesday were slow, so slow, in fact, that they could give an entire performance with one of their dancers down with a stomach bug.

"How is he, by the way?"

"He should be out of bed by tomorrow. That's what he gets for eating salad he didn't properly wash," Dean replied, shaking his head with disapproval. "All that rabbit food will trick you into thinking is healthy, but it always has some sort of shit in it that's just..."

"Don't you eat your burgers practically raw?" Castiel frowned. "That's far unhealthier."

Dean opened his mouth to defend himself, but stopped to look at something to his right. Castiel followed his look and noticed that the lights in Balthazar's office were still on.

"Didn't Balt go home early today?"

"I remember him mentioning something about it, yes."

They looked at each other for a second, hesitant about what to do. Dean took a step forwards and tried the knob. The door swung open without any sort of resistance.

Balthazar wasn't there, but the lights were on and there was a mess of paperwork on his desk. That wasn't all that unusual, but it worried Castiel nonetheless. Balthazar was very private about both his life and the club's administration, so it was very unlike him to be so careless about his office.

"We should call Benny," he suggested. "He has a copy of the office's key."

"Yeah," Dean agreed. He looked around with confusion in his eyes. "We should probably tell him."

He closed the door, but the frown didn't disappear from his face.

"Don't you get the feeling that something's up?" he commented while they went to look for the bouncer.

"Something like what?"

"I don't know, man. Something."

Castiel's paranoia had already been piqued before Dean said anything, but now he could feel it cranking up even further. Inevitably, he wondered if that strange incident would have something to do with Balthazar's health and if he was as okay as he assured everybody he was. He laughed louder, he joke more, he flirted with the clients as he usually did, like his two months absence had never ocurred at all. But he was also.... nicer. Aside from the compliment he had paid Castiel a few nights back, he didn't made as many sarcastic comments, he didn't come down hard on their asses when they messed up a performance and he didn't freak out because they were one man down. In fact, Castiel wasn't even certain he was looking for someone to replace Lucifer. It was like Balthazar's perfectionism had subsided all of the sudden.

All of which wasn't a good sign. And now that night...

They didn't have to go far to find Benny: he was checking and locking the dressing rooms. He looked just as concerned as them when they explained what they'd seen.

"That's not possible."

"Well, unless you're saying both Cas and I ate the same salad as Sammy..."

"It's not possible because I saw the chief locking up before he left," Benny explained, striding past them towards the office. Dean and Castiel followed him quickly, abandoning their bags on the ground. The blood had started pumping in Castiel's vein now that he had confirmation that something wasn't right, and the second they turned the corner, it became pretty clear that was an understatement.

First, the lights were off and the hallway was darkened enough that they couldn't make out much of the dark silhouette running out of the back door.

Benny reacted the fastest: he cried out for the intruder to stop and ran after him. Dean and Castiel almost stumbled with each other in their rush to follow, but by the time the exited the club into the street, there was no trace of either Benny or the man he was following.

"You take left, I take right," Dean suggested, and without waiting for his confirmation, he bolted.

Castiel sprinted towards the corner. It took him a second to localize Benny's large back, almost two blocks down already. The stranger was nothing but a black blur in a hoodie, several meters ahead. Castiel had no idea what he could do to help, but he immediately launched himself after Benny.

The chase didn't last much longer: the intruder crossed a street at top speed and Benny tried to follow him, but a loud honk and the screeching of tires over the pavement made him stumble backwards so suddenly he lost his balance and ended up on the ground. The driver of the car rolled the window down just to throw and insult at him before turning around the corner and disappearing.

And so had the intruder, by that point.

"Are you okay?" Castiel asked, offering his hand to the bouncer.

"Yeah," Benny muttered. He rubbed his ribs with a wince. "Oh, Balthazar's not going to like this."

They found Dean even before they reached the backdoor of the club again. He was panting and his cheeks were bright red, but he still managed to ask:

"He... he got away?"

"I think that's a pretty safe assumption, brotha'," Benny said. "Let's go back and see if this son of a gun took anything we might miss."

There was no money in the club except the bar's earnings, because Balthazar only paid them on Saturday's. Rudy had locked the box before leaving, but it was in its hiding spot under the counter and Benny had been on the front, so there was no way the stranger had been after it. The dancers kept their tips in their bags, so even if he had gone into the dressing rooms, it was impossible that he had found any cash in there either.

That meant if something was missing, it had to be from Balthazar's office.

"I'm not going in there," Benny said. "I'm going to call the chief and ask him if he wants to come down here to see for himself or leave it for the morning."

"Shouldn't we call the police?" Castiel pointed out. His heart was still pumping fast, and it didn't help at all when Benny opened a compartment beneath the bar counter's and extracted a gun and a box of bullets from it.

"We don't know if he took anything," Benny replied, calming pushing the bullets one by one like he did that every other day. "Go home, guys. If Balthazar wants to come, I'll wait for him here." He fiddled with the trigger and the gun emitted a 'click' sound that sent a shiver down Castiel's back. "And if that asshole wants to come back... well, I'm gonna be ready for him too."

Dean had to physically drag Castiel out of the club.

"Come on, Cas, there's nothing we can do."

"It could be dangerous!"

"Benny's a big guy." Dean shrugged. "I mean, literally big. And he obviously knows how to defend himself, so I wouldn't worry about him too much."

Castiel knew, logically, that Dean was right, but that didn't mean he liked leaving their friend alone when there was a man with shady intentions stalking the club.

"So what do you think that was all about?" Dean asked, because a change of topic would be too obvious at that point.

"I don't know," Castiel said, sincerely. "I don't know what to think, except that I don't like it."

"Yeah." Dean nodded. "Totally with you on that."


	17. Chapter 17

"Holy... are you for real?!"

Hael wasn't reacting calmly to the fact there were four shirtless guys in their living room, which also happened to be her bedroom. In fact, she put her hands together in a praying gesture, almost like she was about to fall to her knees and praise the Lord for creating such perfect creatures.

"Is your night job a modeling agency or something?"

"Like what you see, pretty girl?" Dean asked with a wink.

"No," Castiel stopped him. "No, just no."

Meg stepped out of her room and looked around, raising an eyebrow.

"I don't remember telling you to take off your shirts."

"But Hael said we should," Gadreel replied. He sounded a little hurt that someone would just order him to take off his clothes to blatantly objectify him while he wasn't on the clock.

"Did I?" Hael leaned her chin on her hand with a smirk that was anything but innocent. "Sorry. My mistake..."

Tom stepped out of the doorway, wearing his pajama pants and rubbing his eyes. He blinked for a second at the semi-naked men in his living room and promptly declared:

"For the record, I did not agree to host any orgies, so..."

"Tom!" Castiel grabbed his arm before he could sneak back into his room. Tom turned his head to look at him with the same aggressive stare of a rabid dog about to bite someone, but Castiel woke up to the same stare from Meg every day, so he wasn't so easily scared by it anymore. "We're really sorry we invaded your living room on this beautiful Sunday afternoon..."

"Are you going to tell me you're going to start paying us rent?" Tom asked. "'Cause otherwise, I'm not really interested in what you have to say."

"So, I was thinking, since this is going to take a while, why don't you go out to enjoy the day?" Castiel continued, completely ignoring him. "And take Hael with you."

"No," Tom said, which was exactly what Castiel was expecting. He wasn't expecting his cousin to say the same thing at the same time.

"Didn't you say you wanted to go sightseeing?" Castiel almost begged. "This is your chance..."

"I have some pretty awesome sights right here," she said, gesturing at the guys, who were clearly trying to contain their laughter at this point.

"Yeah, and I'm going back to bed because that is the best way to spend a damned Sunday afternoon," Tom groaned. "Just let your cousin ogle over your stripper co-workers and leave me the hell alone."

"Strippers? Come on, they're not strippers," Hael chuckled. "Are they?"

Castiel closed his eyes, because that was exactly the conversation he had been trying to avoid. Yes, he had assumed the longer Hael stayed there, the sooner he'd have to tell her what his 'night job' was, exactly, but he also wanted to preserve her innocence a little longer. She was eighteen, for God's sake.

Not to mention that was another leak that could made the story reach his mother.

"You guys are not strippers, right?"

"Tom," Meg intervened. "Take her sightseeing."

"I don't want to," Tom replied, with all the stubbornness of a child protesting his bed time.

"Chicago, Tom," Meg said, simply. "Remember Chicago?"

It was like she had invoked some sort of magic spell, because Tom groaned even louder, but he sank his shoulders, like he knew there was no case in complaining anymore.

"How long are you going to hold that against me?"

"Until the day you die," Meg promised. "Go."

Tom stomped his feet and slammed the door. Castiel turned to Meg, not entirely sure of what had just happened.

"Chicago?"

"Yeah, he shot me," Meg said, in the same tone someone would make an innate comment on the weather. She mounted her camera on a tripod and stepped backwards to see if she had got the angle right. All of that in the time it took for her words to really hit Castiel.

"He shot you?!"

"Guns and alcohol are a bad combination." Meg shrugged. "But I lived, and I forever get to guilt him into doing my will, so it's okay."

Dean looked at his brother and made a gesture with a gun while he clearly mouthed: "Bullet, dodged". Castiel supposed he should be offended at the insinuation, but he was still too shocked to react to that.

"Castiel, answer me," Hael insisted. "Are you a stripper or not?"

Tom reemerged from his room, wearing a pair of jeans and a bulgy flannel shirt. Castiel suspected he had put his clothes over his pajama.

"Okay, let's go," he said, heading for the stairs without even checking to see if Hael was following him.

"Wait, hold on, this is something I should know," she said. "Cousin dear, are you living a secret life of depravity and excess?"

She managed to sound exactly like her mother, and that was both incredible and terrifying.

"You should go, Tom's going to leave you behind," Castiel pointed out. Hael opened her mouth to keep protesting, but Castiel quickly took out his wallet and handed her a bill. He didn't even look how much it was. "Buy an ice cream. Didn't you say you've been craving ice cream for days?"

Hael narrowed her eyes at him, but she snatched the bill and stood up.

"Fine," she said. "But we're having a talk about this later."

And now she had managed to sound like his mother. And that was even more terrifying. But at least she did stood up and left.

"Dude," Dean said. "Did you just pay your little cousin to get her off your hair?"

"No," Castiel said, even though that was essentially what he had done. "Please, guys, put your shirts back on."

"No, leave them off," Meg said, making Michael and Gadreel freeze when they were reaching for theirs. "For artistic purposes, of course."

"Yes, of course," Castiel muttered, annoyed at the grin Meg was shooting him.

"This is very confusing," Gadreel sighed.

"I don't mind," Michael said, standing up and flexing his muscles. "Where do you want me? I can do all the poses you need me to. I've been practicing."

Meg chuckled while Castiel sat on the stool next to the kitchen counter and sulkily crossed his arms over his chest.

"If you could stand by the window, please," Meg indicated him. "Hang on to the curtains."

"Oh, kinky..."

"Yes, as kinky as having your liver constantly eaten by a fierce bird of prey might be," Castiel said.

To his satisfaction, Michael's grin disappeared from his face.

"Hold that expression!" Meg ordered, and the camera flashed in the living room. "Awesome. Can you make one like you're in excruciating pain from having your guts ripped out?"

"That's not sexy!" Michael complained while the other guys burst out laughing. "How am I supposed to add this to my portfolio if you're going to paint me in a way only a freaking psychopath would find attractive?"

"To be honest, many of the poses models do these days are weird and convoluted," Meg commented. "Look anguished and in pain, please."

Michael looked more irritated than anything, but Castiel guessed he was trying as much as he could.

"Yeah, why you wanna be a model anyway?" Dean asked. "Doesn't that career have like an expiration date as soon as you're no longer young and good looking?"

"I'm going to be good looking until the day I die," Michael replied smugly. "It's all in the bone structure, you see."

"Hey, less talking, more suffering," Meg indicated.

"Nah, man, I'm not even going to go there," Dean shook his head. "As soon as I get Sammy through school, I'm going to take all my savings and start my own workshop."

"That if Bobby doesn't offer to sell you half of his just so you stay with him," Sam suggested.

"Who's Bobby?"

"My other boss," Dean replied. "Not as fabulous as Balt, but the old man could definitely take him on a sass contest. And hey, if he offers me to take on more responsibility on the 'shop, I'm not going to say no. More money would mean I don't have to shake my money maker every night and sleep only four hours."

"I told you, I can totally pay for college by myself," Sam argued. "You don't have to work at the club with me."

"Little late for that," Dean replied. "But you only got like one semester left, and afterwards all the big law firms will flop on your lap begging _'Oh, please, Mr. Winchester, you're so smart and good looking, please come work with us! We'll give you a corner office and a big desk where you can have threesomes with your secretaries!_ '"

"You're confusing porn and reality again," Sam said, but he was laughing along at his brother's goofiness. "I doubt it's going to be that simple."

"Don't be modest. You guys are all suited for success," Dean stated. "Michael's going to be a strutting his goods all over Fashion Week in Paris, Cas' going to strut his all over the major theaters in the world while wearing a tutu and Gadreel..."

He stopped, and everyone in the room seemed to realize at the same time that they didn't know what Gadreel wanted to do with his future.

"Where are you going to strut your goods?"

"Well... if I have anything to say about it, nowhere," Gadreel replied, slowly. "I would like to get a decent day job that doesn't take up too much of my time, and get married and start a family."

Even Meg stopped what she was doing to stare at him.

“You’re kidding.”

“Why would I kid about something like that?” Gadreel asked, throwing confused looks like he didn’t understand why his wishes were so hard to comprehend. “Everybody here has an objective, and this is mine.”

“You want to be a trophy husband?” Dean asked, maybe just to confirm that he had heard correctly. “Is that what you’re saying? You want to marry a rich woman and be her babies’ daddy?”

“That is not what I said!” Gadreel said, offended at what Dean was insinuating. “At all! Although if my potential wife does have a job that allows for me to stay at home and dedicate my time to our children…”

“Yeah, that’s exactly it,” Dean insisted. “A trophy husband.”

“Don’t pay attention to him,” Sam said, before Gadreel opened his mouth to protest at the notion once more. “It’s just… we never peg you for the kind, that’s all.”

“Is there a particular kind of man one has to be to aspire to have a family?” Gadreel asked, tilting his head.

“No, there isn’t,” Castiel interrupted them with the excuse of passing around some beers.

“Yeah, don’t listen to these guys,” Meg agreed. “You can totally be a trophy husband if you like. Twenty-first century and all.”

“I’m still kind of confused,” Dean said. “I figured if any of us would secretly want to be a trophy husband, that would be Cas.”

“Please refrain from speaking about marriage in front of my girlfriend,” Castiel asked. “She has a certain phobia to the institution.”

Meg raised a finger as if she was about to protest the notion, but then she put it down again with resignation. The guys cracked up all over again.

 

* * *

 

“You don’t really think I’m marriage phobic, do you?”

It had been a long afternoon of taking pictures and the guys getting steadily drunker until they started openly making passes at Meg and sort of laughing at the fact Castiel got visibly irritated.

"What's the matter? You two aren't getting married, are you?"

Even Gadreel had got in on it.

"I wouldn't want to marry Meg," he'd commented. "No offense, but I'm thinking we would both have to work to make a living.”

It wasn't until Meg told them to quit it and Castiel more or less threatened to physically fight them that they figured it wasn't funny.

"Come on, it was a joke," Sam had said.

"Yeah, we respect you, dude."

On their behalf, they did stop, but now and again they looked at each other and giggled.

Finally, when Meg was satisfied with the pictures she'd taken (it had been a really long afternoon) and the guys had left, they suddenly realize that Tom and Hael had been gone all day and they had no idea where they were.

"Oh, hell, is it that late?" Hael seemed surprised when he called her to ask where the hell she was. “Sorry, we got really entertained. We’re coming back now.”

Where the hell they went and how it seemed they actually had a good time, Castiel would never know or understand. Hael was a dynamo of perpetual energy and Tom was a grumpy, condescending guy. By all accounts, they should not have got along. When Castiel had suggested they went sightseeing, he had expected Tom would ship Hael on one of the bus that took you around the city and waited for her at the end of the route, probably eating a bagel in the meantime.

But according to Hael, not only had he climbed the bus with her, but he had also agreed to step down whenever she saw something that seemed interesting to her and tolerantly took pictures of her so they wouldn’t all be selfies.

“We had a really great time!”

“It was okay,” Tom had said with his characteristic shrug. “Lil’ girl here knows how to have fun.”

That hadn’t helped to dissipate Castiel’s disconcert at all.

“Hael…”

“Oh, and you know, it’s okay if you’re a stripper,” Hael had continued. “It’s actually kind of cool. You’re like Magic Mike.”

“Who?” Castiel asked, frowning.

Hael had laughed in his face, almost as she knew he wouldn’t get the reference.

“Don’t worry. I won’t tell mom or Aunt Naomi.”

Castiel had looked around, trying to find an explanation to all of that. The closest he’d got was Tom’s smug grin.

“As always, you’re welcomed to start paying me rent any time now.”

So it had been an eventful evening and Castiel was half asleep when the question came from the other side of the bed. In truth, he wasn't paying much attention to what he mumbled in response:

"Yes, Meg, you're right..."

"Wait, so you do think it?"

Finally the words reached his brain and he realized what he had just said.

"No!" he said, opening his eyes and turning around to look at Meg. "Of course not. I just assumed... well, I don't.... I don't know, we've actually never talked about it," he ended admitting.

It was true: the only time they had actually said anything about marriage was when they were talking about Lucifer and how much he'd fucked up his. But he'd just assumed Meg wasn't the like who would consider marriage as one of the main goals in her life. And even if she was, it was pretty early in their relationship to discuss it, even if it was in abstract.

Meg seemed to be realizing the same thing, because she pulled the sheets and rolled over with a:

"You're right. Sorry I woke you, goodnight."

"Meg," Castiel called her, but she didn't move.

And he realize this was another one of those times she was going to clam up and he would feel her away from him. And then he would spend hours wondering what she had meant to say and if it was a bad or a good thing and...

Well, there was no way he was sleeping now. He put a hand on her shoulder and gently try to get her to turn around.

"Meg," he repeated. "Is this something you'd like us to discuss?"

"No," she replied, without looking at him. "It was a stupid thing to bring up. Go to sleep, Cas, you've got an early shift at the store tomorrow."

That was true. Castiel sank back on the mattress, trying to find the appropriate words to end the conversation a little less abruptly. He passed an arm around Meg's waist, and to his relief, she didn't inch away or try to wiggle out of it.

"It's okay," he told her. "Even if you really are marriage-phobic, I don't mind at all."

A long silence followed. Castiel was beginning to think she had actually fallen asleep or just didn't have anything to add when she asked:

"Oh... you don't?"

"Not at all," he repeated. "You are you and I wouldn't change it for the world."

Meg sighed deeply and snuggled a little closer to him.

"That's really sweet, Clarence. But seriously, go to sleep."

Castiel kissed her on the shoulder. He was actually glad they had that conversation.

 

* * *

 

The following week, it was as if Meg had turned into a completely different person. Scratch that: it was like she had turned into a caffeinated fiend that wouldn’t hesitate to bite off your head if you so much approached her wrong.

"I'm sorry, Cas. I just have to get this done..."

"But it's... it's dinner time. We ordered pizza..."

The way Meg looked over her shoulder made him completely certain she was going to growl at him like some sort of wild, angry animal he had poked too much. He preventively took a step backwards.

"Meg, you've been at it all afternoon," he said, trying to speak to her softly. "Maybe you should take a break..."

"I can't take a break. I have to finish these."

She went back to looking at her sketchbook and started drawing, holding the pencil so tight it was a small miracle the tip didn't perforate the pages. The pictures she had taken of the guys were spread out in front of her over the desk, and it seemed as if she was frantically looking for something in them, her eyes going from them to the page over and over.

"But you can have a bite," Castiel insisted. "I think you should, actually..."

"Clarence, oh, my God!" she exclaimed through gritted teeth. "You were the one who pushed me into participating into the stupid exhibit, the least you can do is leave me alone while I prepare for it!"

That wasn't fair. Castiel opened his mouth to protest, to tell her he was only worried about her because she had been working so far.

But then he realized that was the fight Meg had been fearing and it wouldn't be fair to her to do while she was in the middle of something this serious.

"Alright," he said. "I'll bring you some later then."

Meg groaned something he didn't quite catch and continued drawing as if he wasn't there anymore. Casiel stepped out of the room with a sigh and closed the door behind him.

Tom and Hael interrupted their whispered conversation abruptly and looked at him in unison. That was another strange thing Castiel didn't think he could get used to: the fact they got along better now than he did with Meg.

"She's not coming out, huh?" Tom guessed.

"She's... busy. Let's just eat."

But instead of doing that, he spent five minutes staring into his pizza and wondering if there was anything he could do for Meg. She just looked so stressed and anxious, and he couldn't imagine it would be good for her to remain in that state until the last days of August, when the exhibit finally took place...

"Don't you agree, Cas?"

"Uh, what? Yes."

"So you think it's a good idea I go see dance at the club?"

Castiel finally snapped out of his trance to realize the pizza was almost completely gone and he hadn't even touched his piece. Tom and Hael were both looking at him, Hael with that innocent expression on her eyes that indicated she either didn't know or didn't care how awkward what she'd just suggested would be.

"No!" Castiel exclaimed. "You have to be at least twenty-one to get in. There's alcohol and..."

"Relax, dude," Tom said. "We just wanted to bring back to Earth from wherever you were."

Castiel looked at Meg's closed door, wondering if he could bring her back from wherever she was.

"I wouldn't worry too much," Tom continued. "She always gets like this when she's working on a piece that's important to her."

"I do worry," Castiel replied. "She's been sleeping poorly, she spends all her time at her desk without taking a break and I don't think I've seen her ingest anything other than coffee. That can be healthy."

"That's just the way Meg does things," Tom explained. "Don't worry, she'll collapse from exhaustion in a couple of day, sleep for a week and then get back at it until she finishes it."

"Okay, no, that definitely sounds bad," Hael pointed out. "I don't think you should let her keep this up."

"As if anyone could get Meg to do anything she doesn't want." Tom rolled his eyes. "She'll be fine."

Castiel still wasn't convinced.

"I had planned something for this weekend," he said, sighing sadly. "I even asked for the night off. It was very hard to convince Balthazar, but he let me have it when I told him what it was..."

"Why? What's this weekend?"

Both Hael and Castiel stared at Tom in pure astonishment.

"Uh... Meg's birthday?" Hael reminded him.

Tom froze with a piece of pizza halfway into his mouth.

"You do remember that, don't you?" Castiel frowned. "You're her brother."

"Yes, of course I remember that," Tom said, unconvincingly. "I'm just trying to figure it out how come you guys know that."

"It's common courtesy to find out about the birthdays of people you care about," Hael explained, while Castiel nodded along. "Especially when they're letting you crash in their couch."

"You didn't try to find out about my birthday!"

"I did. You said it was the second of never, so I just assumed you're not that big into celebrating it."

Castiel hadn't been there for that interaction, but he could very well imagine it had been early in the morning before Tom had even had the chance to smell his coffee. And now he seemed frustrated because he wasn’t going to get a present whenever it was. It was almost comical, but Castiel wasn’t particularly sorry for him, especially when he had Meg to worry about.

“Is there any way I can lure her out of that mind space?” he asked. “Not for long. Just so she has a chance to take a break.”

Tom tapped his fingers on the table, like he was seriously thinking about Castiel’s question.

“The only way would be to catch her _before_ she starts working,” he said. “She’ll feel like she’s procrastinating, but at least she won’t try to rip your head off.”

That made more sense than Tom thought. Castiel grabbed the last pieces of pizza left in the box and placed them on a plate. It wasn’t the healthiest of foods, but at least it was food and he would consider it a victory if she took even one bite.

“It’s the thirteenth of November, by the way,” Tom said when Castiel was already getting up. “My birthday. In case someone cares.”

“Oh, you’re a Scorpio.” Hael tilted her head like she’d just had a revelation. “That explains it.”

Tom had to be even more confused at that comment, but if he said anything, Castiel didn’t catch it. He was already closing the bedroom’s door behind him.

“Meg?” he called, softly.

Meg didn’t growl or snap at him, so maybe she hadn’t heard him at all. Castiel took a couple of steps towards her desk and looked at her closely: she was sleeping. She had her cheek on one hand while she weakly held the pencil in the other, without even moving it. Her eyes were closed and her breathing deep, and it was clear she had been in that position for a while now.

Castiel set the pizza as far away as he could from all her papers, turned off her lamp and gently placed a hand on her shoulder. Meg startled a little, but she was far too tired to freak out.

“I was… resting my eyes,” she mumbled.

“I’m sure you were,” Castiel replied, pulling her up and letting her limp body fall against him. “Let’s get you to bed.”

“I’m fine,” she protested. “I can go another hour…”

“No, you can’t. Come on.”

He sat her down on the mattress and knelt to take off her shoes. Meg managed to keep her balance for a little bit longer before flailing down and remaining so still Castiel had to check her breathing to make sure she hadn’t died. He thought about taking off her dress so she would be more comfortable, but she obviously wasn’t going to collaborate with that. He undressed and pulled the covers over the both of them.

“Clarence?” she asked when she felt him move closer to her.

“Yes?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be working?”

“It’s Monday,” he reminded her. “I have the night off.”

Meg shook and lifted her head a little.

“Which Monday?” she asked, urgently.

“We’re in the middle of June, Meg,” Castiel said. “You still have a bit over two months to work on your paintings.”

“Yes, but…”

Castiel shushed and pulled her closer to his body. He ran his fingers through her hair, undoing the knots Meg couldn’t be bothered with until the tension in her posture vanished and she meekly melted in his arms.

“Why are you so sweet on me?” she asked, turning around to bury her face on his chest.

“That’s what boyfriends do, Meg.”

“Yeah, I guess,” she muttered. “But even with girlfriends who are marriage phobic?”

She was asleep again before Castiel could think of an answer. He stared at her for a very long time, wondering if maybe he had misunderstood something. How come she always manage to throw his mind in a loop with just a half-thought phrase? How come he never seemed to mind? Not as long as she was here, not as long as her breathing tickled on his skin while they were in bed.

He held even closer and placed his mouth over her forehead. In the morning, they would wake up in a mess of tangled sheets and limbs, Meg would complain that her arms had gone numb and he would have a very awkward walk to the bathroom. But at least she was his for the night.

 


	18. Chapter 18

“I will kill you if I trip.”

“Trust me. You’re doing great.”

Meg didn’t believe him. She knew Castiel was up to something when he said the club was closed for disinfection (disinfection of what, was what she’d like to know), so he could spend the entire day with her. She had asked if it had something to do with it being her birthday and he’d said that was just a lucky coincidence. As if she would buy such a cheap excuse.

“Well, it doesn’t matter,” she’d said, shaking her head. “I still have a lot of work to do, so I don’t exactly have time for celebrations…”

“Not even for a breakfast birthday cake?” Castiel had asked, stopping her before she could even get to her desk. “Hael spent all afternoon making it.”

And goddammit, it was hard enough to say no to Castiel’s puppy eyes, but bringing Hael, who was a literal ray of hyperactive sunshine, into it… that was just low.

“Okay, fine,” she’d huffed. “But afterwards, I have to…”

Castiel had most pointedly ignored all her excuses. He’d dragged her into the kitchen, where Hael was already lighting up the candles to the cake, and even Tom had made a half-hearted attempt at sounding excited while they sang “Happy Birthday” to her. It was a very nice gesture and it wasn’t like Meg didn’t appreciate it, but the longer she spent in that chair, eating and laughing at their jokes, the more anxious she got to get back to her desk. The basic sketches were done, but she still would like to add some more details before she moved them to the canvass and…

“Presents time!” Hael had announced, in high pitch tone that’d drilled into Meg’s head, obliterating her entire train of thought. “We’ve got presents!”

“Oh, guys, you shouldn’t have…”

“Of course we should have!” Hael had shut her up. “Birthdays are for presents. Those are the rules.”

Tom had raised his hands as if to say ‘ _Don’t look at me, you brought them into our house_ ’. Other years, he had given her a new set of brushes or pencils, but apparently that particular year they had agreed on getting her to forget she was supposed to be working, so he gave her a band shirt instead. She figured he must have bought it in a rush, because it wasn’t her size, but she’d thanked him and hugged him anyway, making a mental note to go change it later. Hael had given her a horror book which came highly recommended (by whom, Meg didn’t dare to ask). When she’d turned to Castiel, he had a scarf in his hand and she’d assumed that was his present until he’d placed it over her eyes like a blindfold.

“Really? In front of your little cousin?” she’d tried to joke, but Castiel was having none of that.

“I just don’t want to ruin the surprise. Come with me.”

She had assumed he would just guide her downstairs and that’d be the end of it, but no: Castiel actually kept pulling her hand until she’d felt the hot air of the street on her cheeks and she’d understood her boyfriend actually planned to take her outside like that.

“Castiel, what the hell are you doing?”

“Good luck!” Hael had shouted after them. And the Meg had heard the bells above the door of her shop twinkling as it closed behind her.

“Cas!”

“Don’t worry about anything,” Castiel had insisted. “Just trust me.”

Meg had thought they were going to walk a block, maybe two, maybe her present was at the coffee shop and Ruby was an accomplice in all of this. But no, Castiel once again defied her expectation by walking even further, taking so many turns Meg became completely disoriented.

“Why are we stopping?” she asked, confused and a little bit frightened by this point.

“We’re waiting for the bus.”

“What? Cas, I’m not riding the bus like this!” Meg complained. She tried to reach for the blindfold but Castiel caught her hand before she could undo it.

“Please, just trust me,” he begged. “I’ve been preparing this for a while. I think you’re really going to like it, Meg.”

Meg groaned, but she lowered her hand.

“You’re lucky you’re so cute.”

She had no idea what bus they took, so ten seconds into the ride and now she was completely lost and still had no idea where they could possibly be going. What she did know was that there some giggles and whispers nearby.

“People are laughing at me,” she complained. Castiel’s grip tightened around her hand.

“They do look a little perplexed,” he admitted. “It’s her birthday,” he added.

“Oh, and you’re taking her somewhere special?” a female voice asked them. By her tone, Meg deduced she was an older lady. “That is so kind of you.”

“I wouldn’t mind to have some visuals, though,” Meg commented.

“Hang on, please. We’re almost there.”

Meg also didn’t know what ‘almost’ meant, because her sense of time had got as screwed up as the orientation one. But she calculated it later and she figured it couldn’t have been longer than five minutes. Castiel counted every step on the bus so Meg wouldn’t fall and break her neck and then guided her for another block.

“Very well. We’re here.”

Meg didn’t bother to wait until he took the stupid scarf off and did it herself. She had to blink several times until her eyes readjusted to the light of day and then she had to look around to find some sort of indication of where the hell they were.

“You brought me uptown?” she asked when she recognize the name of the streets. “Okay, I give up. What’s here?”

Castiel put his fingers on her chin and delicately turned her head towards the big white dome across the street. Meg was once more about to ask what was it when her brain finally decided to start working.

“The Observatory,” she understood, suddenly. “You brought me to the Observatory.”

“Yes,” Castiel said. His smile faltered a little bit. “Uh… you don’t like it? I thought you’d… because you like stars, and there’s this exhibition…”

Meg watched him stammer for a while, as a strange warm feeling spread inside her chest. He had actually gone through all the trouble of getting tickets, of getting her there and making a grand deal of it. As far as gift went, this was a pretty simple one, but it was thoughtful and affectionate. He had actually kept in mind what she had told him about her months ago and he had taken her out of her home when it was clear she was going insane with work and…

Nobody had ever done anything like that for her. The thought hit her like a slap on the face. No one had ever bothered to make an effort like this, not her boyfriends from college, much less Lucifer. All of those other boys had just assumed Meg didn’t want a serious commitment, so they had never taken her seriously, not even caring to ask what she liked or what she wanted.

And then there was Castiel, who managed to make her weak at the knees without even trying, who seemed to understand her better than any of them or at least he attempted to. That’s why she’d freaked out with the marriage-phobic comment, because she’d thought Castiel was like all those others, that he was just passing the time and enjoying the warm bed until something better came along. And once again he had proved her entirely wrong.

“Goddammit, I love you,” she exclaimed thoughtlessly.

Castiel stopped his rambling mid-sentence, like it was him who had received a slap on the face this time.

“You… you do?”

Meg figured it was too late to take it back now. And even if it hadn’t been, well… she didn’t want to.

“Yes, you silly boy,” she replied, grabbing him by the lapels of his jacket and pulling him down until their lips met.

Castiel put an arm around her waist and pressed her against him, so close their legs got tangled up and they only managed to keep their balance because he held onto the closest wall. Meg knew people was probably watching them and laughing, but this time she didn’t care. The whole world could be staring and she still wouldn’t care. All that mattered was that they were together, that he had thought about her on her birthday and that she had never been happier to be wrong about something.

She finally pulled away when they were both out of breath. The elation had gone to her head and she felt light and tingly, better than with any drug she had ever taken. Castiel’s hair was completely ruffled (more than usual, in any case), his eyes were glimmering and his lips were red from where had bitten them. And more importantly, he was still smiling wide.

“Well, if I had known that would happen, I would have brought you here a lot earlier…”

“Let’s go!”

They crossed the street laughing like little kids, and they didn’t stop until the guide gave them a dirty look and told them they needed to be silent if they wanted to join the visitor’s group.

“We’re sorry,” Castiel mumbled. “We’ll be quiet.”

And they had to bite their tongues hard to keep that promise.

 

* * *

 

The visit didn’t last long and it was a little bit boring anyway. Meg loved the stars, but not the scientific aspects of them precisely. She didn’t care about how many molecules of helium they needed to shine this or that bright. She was fascinated by their cycles, by how the crumbled and became new once more, by their names and the forms they drew in the sky. That’s why she much preferred it when the guide finally shut up and left them on the movie room, where they could sit back and observe a very well animated sky move above their heads and beyond their 3-D glasses.

“The dwarf stars are stars with a luminosity class V. They are divided in red, yellow and orange dwarves…”

The narration was boring as fuck, but it was easy to drown it out and just focus on the visuals: the galaxies spinning slowly, the planets and their colorful pallets, the black holes and their dark edge so close it seemed ready to absorb them. Meg was so taken in by it all she wasn’t even annoyed at the group of school children sitting around them whispering and playing with their cellphones. In fact, it was almost funny when Castiel touched her hand to bring her back to reality just to point at the teacher: he had fallen asleep with the glasses crooked on his head and his mouth open wide. The students had realized that, and they were looming in closer with Sharpies in their hands, almost like they were wondering what would be the best thing to draw on his forehead.

Castiel and Meg giggled, and then she pulled his hand to indicate she wanted to leave.

“What is it?” Castiel asked when they were out. “Did you get bored?”

“A bit,” she admitted. “But honestly, I just want to go to the bathroom.”

A furrow of confusion immediately appeared between Castiel’s eyebrows, as she knew it would. If it was only that, why wouldn’t she just go by herself and come back later? Why couldn’t she tell her inside the viewing room?

Meg took delight in his absolute lack of awareness of what she was planning and guided him downstairs.

“Do you want me to wait outside for you?” he offered when he saw they were approaching the doors.

Instead of answering, Meg looked at both sides of the aisle, and was pleased to notice it was completely empty. In one fast movement, she pushed the door open and pulled Castiel inside with her.

“What are you doing?” he asked, blushing furiously as Meg checked the stalls. They were all empty, so it seemed the universe was also giving her a birthday present that day. “Meg, this is the women’s bathroom. I’m not supposed to be in here…”

Meg shut him up with a kiss and a grin.

“Come on,” she said, pulling him closer towards the sinks.

Castiel was slowly starting to catch to what was happening.

“Meg, this is not… we’re not supposed to…” He stumbled onto his own words and went completely quiet when Meg pulled the skirt of her dress up and slid out of her panties before sitting in the sink.

“Don’t tell me you never dreamed about doing it in a public place.” Meg grabbed him by the belt and pulled him closer, so now he was standing between her legs. She could tell his hesitation was quickly melting, but he wasn’t quite there yet.

“What if somebody catches us?” he asked in a nervous whisper.

“I imagine we’ll get kicked out and banned for life.”

"You seem disturbingly okay with that."

Instead of answering, Meg undid his belt and slipped her fingers into his boxers. Castiel shuddered at her strokes, his finally losing what was left of his coyness. Meg smirked up at him for a second before she pulled his boxers down. He was half-hard already, and if they'd had more time, she probably would have taken it into her mouth. But the angle was complicated and the sink's porcelain was cold against her ass, and besides, taking it slowly and caringly was not the point of that particular scenario.

She made a fist around Castiel's dick and started pumping, smiling with satisfaction when he started cursing and moaning under his breath. He had her hand on her shoulders, holding onto her like for dear life, and by the time Meg caught a drop of pre-cum in the tip of his erection, he seemed to have completely forgotten about all the risks they were taking.

"Meg..."

Meg opened her legs even wider, maneuvering so she could hook her heels over his ass and pushing him closer to her. But just when she could feel her hardness pressing against the skin of her inner thighs, he stopped and open his eyes again.

"Are you... are you sure...?"

"Do you think I would have got this far if I weren't?" Meg laughed. "What's wrong?"

"Condoms, Meg," he reminded her. "You're always so careful about this, I figured you wouldn't want me to..."

And yeah, that almost killed the moment right there. Common sense indicated that was a stupid, stupid thing she was about to do. She hadn't let a guy fuck her bare since... ever. But then again, she was on the pill and she knew they were both clean, so maybe it didn't matter too much. And if she was going to be impulsive and reckless, she might as well do it all the way.

Besides, Castiel wasn't all those other guys. He was different. He had been an exception to every other rule in her life so far, so...

"It's okay," she assured him. "Just this once. It's my birthday, come on..."

Castiel stayed very still for a moment longer, like he was giving her time to change her mind. But then he pushed her up to engulf her in a hungry kiss, jerking his hips forwards at the same time. Meg shouted into his mouth, hanging onto his shoulders and marveling at the fact he didn't need to do anything else to get her going. Just the fact he was going along with it, that he was fucking her raw and desperate, his thrusts growing harsher each time...

"Aw, shit."

"You okay?"

"Keep going," she urged in his ear, trying to do everything in her power to stay right where she was. "Cas, don't... I'm almost, I'm almost..."

Castiel didn't waste any more time. He muffled a groan against her neck a second before he opened his lips and sank his teeth into her tender skin.

It was like every single one of her nerves went haywire. One second she was still perfectly aware of everything going on, then her head was spinning wildly, her vision was going blurry and Castiel was putting a hand over her mouth.

"Meg, please... they're going to hear us," he panted.

Meg attached his mouth instead of answering, nibbling and biting his lips like she wanted to draw blood, sticking her tongue into him and pushing herself as much as the weird position let her. She wanted to melt against him, she wanted to disappear forever in the sea of his eyes, the waves of pleasure carrying her further and further away from sanity...

The force of her orgasm shocked her, almost as much as feeling him spilling against her thigh practically at the same time, hot and sticky and messy. He had his fingers in her heir and her lips against her temples and it seemed like he too was trying with all his might not to scream. His heaving chest was the perfect place to rest her head and close her eyes for a second, as the shivers slowly died down.

"Holy fuck."

"Not the word choice I would have gone with, but yes," Castiel agreed.

They moved away to look at each other in the face. Castiel's cheeks were even redder than before, drops of sweat forming on his hairline like some sort of profane halo. Meg imagined she didn't look much better, and when she climbed down from the sink and took one glance at the mirror, she realized she also had her make-up completely ruined on top of it.

That's when they started cracking up like a couple of maniacs.

"Oh, my God," Castiel chuckled. "I can't believe we just did that."

"Can definitely kick that out of the bucket list, huh?"

Castiel wasn't looking at her: he was busy quickly tucking his dick back inside his boxers and pulling his jeans up again, and for some reason, that made Meg started laughing again. It was almost as hilarious as having to pick up her panties from the ground she had so joyously abandoned them at.

"Go," she told him. "It'll be less suspicious if they don’t see us together."

Castiel was probably going to reply there would be nothing not suspicious about a guy hanging outside the women's bathroom with his face red and his hair all messed up, but he left anyway.

Meg took some hygienic paper from one of the stalls and removed all the smeared lipstick and mascara. She then looked down at the stain on her leg, which she probably should have cleaned first, but again, that day she wasn't doing things like she was supposed to. Castiel's cum had dripped further down and it felt weird to the tact. For a moment, she considered just leaving it there. The thought aroused her just for how dirty it was, to make the ride back home like that and wait for Castiel's reaction when he saw it.

She would tell him it was the first time he came as the same time as the guy she was fucking, she goad him into marking her again, into leaving a bruise or a hickey in her skin this time. But at the last moment she shook her head and cleaned it anyway. There would be time for sexy games at some other moment.

There was a janitor outside the bathroom when she came out, and for the dirty looks he was throwing in Castiel's direction, it was clear he suspected something was up. Castiel fidgeted with his fingers and tried to ignore him, but the relief in his face when he saw Meg come out was almost comical.

"Ready?"

"Yes," she said.

She wrapped an arm around his waist while he placed his over her shoulders and they walked away as innocently as he could. Meg felt the sting of the janitor's stare in the back of her head and had to bite back a chuckle.

"Did he see you?" she asked.

"No, I had already come out when he showed up," Castiel explained. "But I think he suspected I was planning on doing something indecent, so he stuck around."

Meg managed to keep her laughter in right up until the point they walked past the group of school children that had watched the movie with them. Their professor had a penis drawn in black Sharpie in his forehead and he seemed entirely unaware of it while he spoke with the observatory’s guide, who stared at him with eyes wide open and a disconcerted expression. The children were covering their mouths and looking down at their shoes, obviously enjoying the last moments they would have to laugh at their prank before they were caught.

Meg and Castiel cracked up entirely when they were outside. They were lucky enough to find two free seats on the bus, so they could sit down side by side and cuddle up to each other.

"Well, observatories are officially ruined for me now," he commented, caressing her hair.

"I wonder what other places we can ruin," Meg said, with a mischievous grin. "Cinemas? Parking lots?"

"You can't be serious," Castiel chuckled, but he had got red in the face again, so he was clearly thinking about it.

"I am entirely too serious," Meg assured him. "How about art exhibits?"

Castiel laughed, but she wasn't joking at all.

"I think we should save it for very special occasions," she said. "And the exhibit will be one, so..."

The smile disappear from his face. For a moment, Meg thought he was going to say he didn't think they could do it, but his problem was something different:

"Promise me you're not going to go so long without resting," he said. "I know it's important, and I know you want to get it perfect, but you taking care of yourself is important, too."

Meg twisted her mouth. In another occasion, she would have disavowed the idea, told him he had no idea what he was talking about, that working so hard was the only way she could calm her anxiety upon doing something this big and this important. But perhaps the hormones in her brain from the sex made her mind clearer, because she knew he was right.

"Ugh, fine," she groaned. "But you can't trust me to know when to stop, so you're going to have to tell me."

"Okay, I can do that. We can establish a code for when I think you're getting in too deep and need to stop for a while," he proposed. "That way you will know I'm serious and that I'm one step away from physically drag you from your desk."

"Like a safe word?" Meg laughed. "What would it be?"

Castiel stayed quiet for a very long time, his fingers still lazily runnng through her hair like it was the most important, delicate task in his life.

"I love you," he said.

The same warm sensation she had experimented when she'd seen the observatory invaded her again. What a pair of saps they were.

"Are you telling me or are those the safe words?" she tried to joke.

"Both," Castiel said. "That way I get to tell you every day."

Huge pair of saps. Gigantic, in fact.

She moved away to look at him with a grin and placed a hand over his cheek. Castiel leaned over to kiss her, and they must have stayed like that for a long while, because someone cleared their throat loudly at them.

"We should also ruin the Man of Letters' Academy," Meg commented once they were walking down their block. "Once you get in, of course. I'd say that's going to be a truly special occasion."

"Yeah," Castiel scratched the back of his neck. "If I manage to get in at all, that is."

"Why wouldn't you?" Meg frowned.

Instead of answering, Castiel halted in front of the studio and looked up. There were lights in the windows and the soft rumor of music floating in the air over their heads.

"Oh," he said. "It seems Hael went ahead and threw you the surprise party after all."

A rush of panic washed over Meg as she looked at the windows of their apartment and confirmed that, indeed, there were far too many figures up there moving across the light.

"What? Why? How?!" Meg asked, completely disconcerted.

"Well, I believe she might have Facebook-stalked your friends," Castiel explained. "She probably somehow enlisted Tom's help for it."

He spoke with the quiet resignation of someone who had been through the same thing far too many times and knew there was no point in protesting or trying to change it.

"Is there a force in the universe capable of stopping her?" Meg asked. She didn't know whether she should laugh or run like hell from the crowd that was probably waiting for her up there.

"If there is, it hasn't been found yet," Castiel said. He offered Meg his hand, with a beam. "Shall we?"

"Sure," Meg chortled. "This should be fun."


	19. Chapter 19

There had been some changes in the Heaven and Hell after what became known as "The Incident" (capital letters and all). Balthazar had always refused to put on a security camera system, but the week after the intruder had been there, Castiel returned to the club find redheaded petite girl directing everybody while she comfortably sat in front of what, to him, looked like a perfectly ordinary computer.

They were installing cameras in the corners, and apparently, that was a two man's job, because both Ash and Rudy were atop of the stairs (how it didn't fall over was anyone's guest) moving it inch by inch while Benny hanged what seemed to be kilometers of cables near the ceiling.

"Alright, guys, if you could move it a little to the left, I would get the angle just right... little more... there!" the girl indicated. She was looking at her laptop's screen and nodding approvingly. "You're doing great. Now I think we should put another one over the private booths..."

"I don't know about that, lil' sista'," Benny said. "Remember, Balthazar said we should try to preserve the clients' privacy..."

The redheaded girl sighed deeply and stared at Castiel like she was looking for some sort of support on what she was saying.

"Look, you called me because I'm the best, right?" she reminded them. "This is just so we can take a look at who is sitting there. It's not like I'm asking you to put them in the bathrooms or the dressing rooms. You know, like Frank wanted to do."

Castiel didn't know who Frank was, but judging by the reactions of the guys, he was probably better off that way.

"Okay, let me talk it over with the chief," Benny sighed, taking his cellphone out of his pocket. "Take five, guys. Hello, Cas."

"Hello," Castiel replied.

Ash jumped down from the stairs, which made Rudy almost lose his balance, but they both managed to land on their feet.

"Hey, Cas, this is Charlie," he introduced him to the girl. "She's an old friend from college. She's our new head of security."

"Hi," Charlie mumbled, without taking her eyes off her computer.

"Nice to meet you," Castiel said. "I thought Benny was our head of security."

"Yes, but he doesn't have eyes everywhere," Charlie replied, moving the laptop a little so Castiel could see it. "I do, though."

The screen was divided in eight, smaller rectangles. They showed the stage, the bar and Ash's DJ booth, and some others were still black because the cameras hadn't been installed yet. He imagined that, once done, Charlie could have a global view of the club at any given moment.

"That's... neat," Castiel said, although he wasn't sure that was the world he was looking for.

"If you're worried about your privacy, don't be," Charlie said. “I play for the other team, so I couldn’t be any less interested in peeping at you guys.”

That wasn’t what Castiel had meant, but he took her words for it.

“Do you need any help with that?”

“Now that you mention it…”

“No!” Rudy and Ash shouted at the same time, drowning out whatever it was that Charlie had been about to say.

“You have to do your pre-heating or stretching or whatever is it that you do before you start dancing,” Rudy reminded him.

“But I’m the only one here,” Castiel said. He looked around to confirm that, yes, indeed, he had been the first to arrive. “So maybe…”

“Save yourself, Castiel,” Ash said, waving his hands dramatically. “Run away and don’t look back. Don’t worry about us. We will valiantly deal with the Red Queen’s demanding.”

“Very funny.” Charlie rolled her eyes. “And for the record, I am the Moondoor Queen.”

Castiel didn’t know what that meant and he wasn’t sure he wanted to. He just followed the guys’ advice and headed towards the backstage.

Benny was hunched in a corner, whispering hurriedly onto his phone.

“No, you don’t have to do that. Stay. Get some rest,” he was saying. “We have it all under control here, I promise. No, Balthazar. Yes, I’ll call you. Me too. Goodbye.”

He ended the call and spun on his heels to return to the front, but froze completely when he noticed Castiel.

“How long have you been standing there?”

Castiel had the impression he should have lied. He should have said he hadn’t heard anything and moved on, he should have ignored the sudden pit of terror forming in his stomach. He should have respected the tacit agreement everybody at the club had to not mention anything at all about Balthazar’s intermittent presence and his deteriorating aspect. But there was something in Benny’s face, something so somber, so solemn, that he just felt compelled to break the rule and ask point blank:

“How is he?”

“You know, nothing ever gets to him,” Benny replied. He smiled at Castiel, but it looked like a forced grimace. “Hope you’re ready to dance your ass off. You’re going to have to make up for not coming yesterday.”

“Benny…”

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want to hear the answer to, Castiel,” Benny warned him. “Just do your job and do it well. It’s what Balthazar wants you to do.”

He strode past him without another word. Castiel stared at his back and wondered if asking him something else would be of any use or if Benny would clam up even further. But even before he tried anything, he already knew what the result would be.

Sam and Dean arrived five minutes later, even before Castiel had finished putting on his practicing clothes.

“Big Brother’s watching us,” Dean commented. “Or maybe ‘Lil’ Sista’ is watching us would be more appropriate.”

Sam rolled his eyes, like he always did when he thought his brother was being unfunny.

“I don’t think she is,” Castiel commented. “She has asserted she is sexually uninterested in us.”

Sam chortled. “Good one, Cas.”

Dean did his best to look very offended, but it came out more comical than he probably intended it, and Sam laughed even harder at his face.

“Come on, Dean, you know you’re not funny.”

“I am hilarious, thank you very much,” Dean replied. “And you’d do well to laugh _with_ me, you ungrateful, overgrown man.”

Among their joking and bantering, Castiel almost forgot the sadness in Benny’s face. Almost.

“Hey, guys, do you know if Balthazar’s coming today?” he finally asked, when he couldn’t hold it any longer.

The Winchesters exchanged a quick look, and Castiel had the feeling he had missed an entire conversation in that fraction of a second.

“I’m sure he’ll show up if he’s feeling like it,” Dean concluded.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t worry too much,” Sam said. “Let’s go, we gotta rehearse.”

So they had noticed it too, but they were abiding by the pact of silence. Castiel couldn’t blame them, and of course, he understood that Balthazar wanted his privacy respected. But it was still hard to keep it off his mind while he shook his hips to the beat, which was constantly interrupted because Charlie needed to shout instructions at Benny or at Rudy or simply because her cables interfered with Ash’s cables and the stage was a complete disaster.

“Charlie, we really need to get this going…”

“And you really need me to install this cameras here,” Charlie reminded him. “Balthazar ordered it, remember?”

Benny didn’t have the energy to argue with her.

“Take five guys. Have something to drink.”

The policy was that they were strictly forbidden to drink anything containing alcohol before a presentation (nobody wanted an uncoordinated stripper stumbling on the stage), but this time, Rudy produced a pack of beers and placed it on top of the counter. Before anyone could say anything to him, he opened one of the cans and gulped down its contents like he was dying of thirst.

“Well?” he told the dancers. They all stared at each other for a second, and in the end, they all picked one as well.

“I’m underage,” Alfie reminded them. “I shouldn’t be…”

“Come on, I wasn’t even two digits when they gave me my first beer,” Dean said, pushing a can towards him. “Besides, how do you expect to lead a life of sex, drugs and rock and roll if you don’t start with the alcohol?”

“I don’t want to do drugs,” Alfie said, looking at the can like it was a getaway to something much worse. “I’m also not very lucky in the sex department.”

Michael choked on his beer for laughing, and Gadreel practically stuffed a paper napkin up his nose to keep him from spilling it all over, but the result was that Michael choked even more. He got red in the face, waved his arms like he was asking for help, ripped the napkin off and threw it at Gadreel, who seemed very offended by that.

“I was only trying to help!”

Ash was the first one to start laughing, and a second later, they were all cracking up with him, although no one was sure at whom. Charlie and Benny were now having a shouting match at both ends of the club, completely ignoring them, and that only added to the hilarity. Castiel felt the edges of his eyes getting wet, his belly was aching and his head lighter. After all, they had so few chances to be together like that; they were always so busy working their asses off, and at some point, during all those moths he had spent there, they had all become friends. And he hadn’t even realized it.

God, he wished Balthazar was there to share that moment with them.

There were two knocks at the club’s door, and maybe because he’d been thinking so much about him, Castiel immediately assumed that was their boss. But of course, that was ridiculous: Balthazar would have come in through the back door with his own key, he didn’t need to knock.

“This isn’t over, Red!” Benny said, pointing a finger at Charlie, and then bounced towards the door while everybody was still trying to pull themselves together. “Sorry, we open at eleven…”

“I am well aware at what time you open,” said the person standing at the other side of the door. “But I’m afraid I’m not here for pleasure.”

It took Castiel a couple of seconds to realize who the short man in the black suit was. In the meantime, he sauntered in like he owned the place, looked around and shot them all a greasy smirk.

“Ah, I see you’re taking a break,” he said, approaching the counter. “Allow me to join you. Whiskey for me, if you’re so kind.”

Crowley, Castiel remembered suddenly. His name was Crowley. He had come out of Balthazar’s office, months ago, after they had been arguing. Everybody had been wary of him then, and now his mere presence had been enough to banish their cheery mood to the pits of hell itself.

“Balthazar’s not here,” Benny informed him, walking up to Crowley. “So I don’t know what you want, but you better…”

“Relax, big boy.” Crowley dragged a stool near him and sat, crossing his legs ad smirking still. “I’m just here with a business proposal for all you.”

The five dancers got up from their seats in unison. Castiel could feel his cheeks burning with fury, and by the way the others were clenching their fists, it was obvious they were all thinking the same thing.

“Get the hell out of here,” Dean said.

“We’re not Inias,” Gadreel said. “You won’t convince us to work for you just offering us a better pay.”

“Fair enough.” Crowley shrugged, as if he had been waiting that exact reaction. “But I’m sure than when you have no pay at all, my offer will look rather attractive.”

“What the hell you on about?” Rudy asked.

“Oh, Balthazar dear hasn’t told you?” Crowley asked, putting a hand over his chest and looking down like he was very solemn. “Well, of course, he’s always been a secretive little idiot. I take no pleasure in being the bearer of bad news…”

“Get the fuck out!” Benny screamed. He stretched his hand to grab Crowley by the arm, but the owner just squirrel away with impressive agility.

“Balthazar is dying, my dear friends,” Crowley said. “I reckon it won’t take long now. And he’s so selfish I’m betting he’s not going to leave the club organized so you can all keep on…”

Benny’s fist impacted against his nose. Crowley fell on his butt, a disconcerted expression on his face as blood starting dripping from his nose and down into his impeccable shirt.

“GET OUT!” Benny roared.

If Dean and Sam hadn’t run to hold him back, he probably would have kicked Crowley’s face until he stopped moving. Crowley seemed to realize what a grave mistake he had made, because he scrambled to his feet and fled towards the door without another word. Benny struggled between the Winchesters arms for a while, like he wanted to go behind Crowley and finish the job.

“You scumbag! You fucking son of a bitch…!”

“Easy, man, easy!” Dean said, as they dragged Benny back into a stool.

“It’s not worth it,” Sam said. “Benny, it’s not worth it.”

They managed to sit him down, but they didn’t let go of him until Benny’s face stopped looking red in the face. He muttered one last insult at Crowley under his breath and then he went quiet. The Winchester released him very slowly and remained around him, like they thought he was going to jump to his feet and go after Crowley with a gun the second he was free. It didn’t seem like a far-fetched consideration.

“I’m fine,” Benny groaned through his teeth. “I’m fine.”

A long, deep silence followed. Castiel looked around at the confused and sad faces of everyone on the club, and he knew. He knew now that it had been explicitly stated, they couldn’t keep on quiet about it.

Alfie was the one to break the silence.

“Is it… is it true?” he asked, with a voice so low it was hard to hear him. “I mean, I knew he was sick, but I never thought…”

When Benny looked up at them, he didn’t look furious anymore. He looked defeated, like he had worked so hard to keep Balthazar’s secret and now that it was out, all his fighting abandoned his body at the same time.

“Go home, guys,” he told them. “We’re not opening tonight.”

“Benny…”

“We’re going to finish that tomorrow,” he added, pointing at the cables and the cameras. “So you can go home too, Charles.”

He stood up, ignoring all the looks and calls for his name, and walked towards the backstage. By the time the others gathered themselves enough to follow him, he was already gone.

 

* * *

 

“Hey, you’re home early.”

“A plus to you for pointing the obvious,” Tom commented.

Hael stuck her tongue out at him. If Castiel had been in a less gloomy mood, he might have laughed at her. The two were having dinner together (it was ramen week, apparently, just like the week before had been pizza week) without Meg. Castiel didn’t have to ask where she was.

“Yeah, she’s painting again,” Tom said, with a brief gesture towards her room’s door. He opened his mouth, as if he was about to tease him for being whipped or remind him again he should pay some rent before he could call that place a home, but instead, he frowned and asked: “You okay, dude?”

Castiel couldn’t even muster the courage to lie.

“You look like someone sucker punched you in the stomach,” Tom observed.

“Cas.” Hael got up from her chair, worry settling in her face. “Did something happen?”

It was so strange, he thought. Even though he had met Meg at the club, even though she had technically been a client there, he spoke very little about the things that went on there, unless they had been extraordinary. So Tom and Hael had no idea who Balthazar was, or what he had done for him, or how what Crowley had said that night had really been like a sucker punch for all of them. He couldn’t explain how silent and depressing the dressing room had been when they went back to put on their normal clothes, and they’d had to avoid the eye of the confused and disappointed clients that had gone there early to get a good seat and found the door was closed and the dancers were leaving. Ash had come out to explain to them there had been an unexpected emergency, but Castiel hadn’t stuck around to hear the rest of those excuses. He had simply walked as fast as he could until he was there, in that crowded apartment he had come to call home.

And now he really needed to see Meg, and hug her, because suddenly everything around him was too fragile and he needed to feel the heaviness of her head resting on his chest to be alright again.

“I’m just going to… yes,” he mumbled thoughtlessly.

He didn’t even stop to look at their faces. He just stepped inside the room and closed the door behind him.

Meg was in front of her canvass, chewing the end of her brush like it was a pencil. The room was barely lit and there was a soft, low song coming from her phone. She didn’t turn to look at him until he was sitting on the bed and stretching his hands to put them around her waist. She startled and looked at him with eyes wide open.

“Is it that late?” she asked.

Castiel laughed a little, because of course she had lost track of time. The painting showed a muscly guy who was and wasn’t Sam, holding a blue globe that occupied the entire upper part of the canvass. The first time Castiel had seen it, it had only been sketch, so Meg must have been at it the entire afternoon.

“I love you,” he whispered in her ear.

She looked relieved. She had probably been searching for an excuse to stop and rest, and now that she had it…

Her face changed entirely when she turned around to look at him.

“What happened?” she asked, frowning at him. “Cas, why are you home so early?”

Castiel pulled from her until the both of them fell on the mattress. Meg immediately kicked her shoes and curled up to him, caressing his cheek with a hand that smell like turpentine.

“Cas…”

Castiel wanted to tell her, but he didn’t think the big lump on his throat was going to let him.

“Let me just… can I just…?”

Meg understood. She always did. She kissed him very gently, and let him bury his face in her neck for a very long, long time.

He might have cried. He might have even fallen asleep. He didn’t know until there was a knock on the door and Hael’s voice reached his ears, insecure:

“Uh, Cas? There’s a guy here… he says he wants to talk to you… his name’s Balthazar.”

Castiel almost jump at that.

“Why is he here?” Meg asked, frowning.

It was a fair question: Balthazar hadn’t come to the studio since he had been there months ago to help him pick his tattoo. It felt like years, and when he walked outside to talk to him, it seemed like years had gone by Balthazar’s face. He was paler than Castiel had ever seen, and he seemed to be doing a lot of effort to stay on his feet.

But he still smiled at Castiel like he had no worries in the world.

“Oh, come on, darling,” he said. “Don’t tell me you’ve been crying because of me.”

Castiel quickly wiped his tears from his eyes.

“What are you doing here?” he asked. “Shouldn’t you be…?”

“In a hospital bed, agonizing? Don’t worry about it. I reckon I’ll soon be.”

Balthazar laughed, but it quickly turned into a dry coughing that made Castiel’s heart sink in his chest. He quickly grabbed Balthazar by the arm (an arm so thin, when he had lost so much weight?) and guided him towards the closest chair.

“Hael, Tom, why don’t you go organize the inks downstairs?” Meg suggested.

“Good idea,” Tom said.

Castiel caught a glimpse of him leading a frightened-looking Hael by the hand before all his attention went back to Balthazar. Meg diligently brought him a glass of water. Balthazar’s hands trembled when he lifted to take a sip. It still took him several minutes and a couple of wheezing breaths to speak again:

“Cigarettes. They told me time and time again to quit them. But did I listen to them? Word of advice for you, Cas: when the doctor tells you something is going to kill you, it probably will.”

Castiel’s heart sank at those words. A part of his mind, a miniscule part of it, was convinced that Crowley had lied, that he’d only said those things to get under their skins. But Balthazar’s tired smile revealed that it was all true. Castiel spoke through the lump in his throat:

“How long have you got?”

“Some weeks. A month, at the most,” Balthazar replied. “Could have been a little longer if I had decided to continue with the chemo, but I decided I’d rather die with what was left of my dignity, my hair and my money. Oh, no, darling, don’t cry. I can’t stand to see you like that.”

Castiel swallowed and tried to keep his composure.

“How did Crowley know?” he asked. “Did you…?”

“I didn’t tell him, but I think he might have suspected something when I called him out of the blue. I tried to sell him half of the club months ago, when I first found out,” Balthazar explained. “And then he would get the other half when I died. An excellent bargain, really. The condition was you would get to keep your jobs even then, but Crowley wouldn’t make any promises: ‘Come on, Balt, you know that isn’t the way I do business. Cut me some slack.’” Balthazar imitated Crowley’s Scottish accent almost perfectly. “I told him to go to hell, and he didn’t like that. He’s rancorous. He opened his own club, hired Inias… and Luc, when I fired him. I have reasons to believe he was the one snooping around in my office the other night. That’s the only way Crowley could have known. I didn’t tell any of you, and I trust Benny with my life.”

“But why didn’t you tell us?” Castiel insisted. “Balthazar, we would have been there for you…”

Balthazar took another sip from the glass. He stared at it pensively, like he could find the answers at the bottom of it.

“I was going to tell you very soon,” he said. “Crowley only… made the inevitable come sooner. See, Cas, I don’t have any family. Never had kids. I was married a couple of times, briefly.” He laughed, but stopped quickly, maybe fearing that he would start coughing again. “I invested my very last penny in that club, and in many ways, you and the boys are the only family I got. So… I’m trying to make it right for you.”

Castiel didn’t ask what he meant until Balthazar extracted a brown envelope from inside his jacket and left it in front of him. For a weird second, Castiel thought it might be money, but when he opened it, he realized it was something far more valuable.

“The MOL forms,” he said, but that wasn’t all: there were three letters of recommendation from people he had never heard about which, added to the letters from his teachers, would make his curriculum look far heavier than after his first attempt. “Balthazar…”

“I called some favors from some old theater friends,” Balthazar said, as if he already knew what Castiel was going to ask him. “Don’t worry, these people have come to the club and seen you dance. They’re recommending you in good faith, not just ‘cause I asked them to. They’re also recommending Alfie.”

Castiel felt the tears swelling up in his eyes again, but he managed to hold them back. Balthazar finished his water and rose, very slowly and with a hand clasp to the chair, like he didn’t trust his feet to hold his weight when he was up again.

“Anyway, that’s what I came to give you,” he said, in view that Castiel was speechless. “There’s no need for you to walk me to the door, I can…”

Castiel didn’t let him go on. He threw his arms around his neck and hugged him as tight as he dared. Balthazar’s body was thin, so thin (when had he lost that much weight?) and it felt fragile between his arms, but when Balthazar hugged his back, his arms felt a little weak.

“There, darling, there,” he said, patting Castiel’s shoulder. “No need to be sad. Honestly, if I find out that any of you cried at my funeral, I will come back to haunt you, make no mistake.”

Castiel tried to laughed, but it come out a growling sound from the tears caught in his throat.

“There we go,” Balthazar congratulated him. He then turned to Meg. She was doing better at Castiel by trying not to cry, but her eyes were still red and wet. “You are going to take care of him, aren’t you, beautiful Meg?”

“I’ll do my best,” Meg said. She also stepped forwards to hug him. “Friday nights are going to be a lost less fun in this neighborhood without you, that’s for sure.”

“The world is going to be a lot less fun without me,” Balthazar replied, with a trace of his usual confidence.  “Do you have any idea what heaven is like?”

Castiel was only half surprise by the question. Having been brought up in a religious household, he sometimes imagined heaven as a blue place with fluffy clouds, where angels in white robes sang eternally. But he didn’t think that image would be very consoling for Balthazar, so he shook his head.

“I always thought it was a big sunny beach with a clear sea where you can lie and have as many margaritas as you want without getting drunk,” Balthazar commented. “I’m thinking it might be nice to go there, no?”

Castiel tried to smile for his sake, but he almost started crying again when he saw his boss, his friend, almost staggering downstairs. He hurried up to follow him, but Balthazar was already on the floor below. He said goodbye to Tom and Hael (who obviously had been listening in to the whole thing) with a nod of his head and then he exited the studio, his hands in his pockets and putting one foot in front of the other parsimoniously. Like there was nothing in the world more important than walking down the street and absorbing every single detail of that pretty summer night.


	20. Chapter 20

Life went on after that. Amazingly, incredibly, life went on as if nothing had ever happened, as if Crowley had never barged in there to interrupt their happiness like a harbinger of death. For two entire weeks at least, life went on. Meg kept painting, Tom kept making tattoos and Hael kept organizing things that didn’t need to be organized. Castiel went to Nora’s store six days a week and to the club from Wednesday to Saturday. He smiled to the clients, flirted with them, bagged their orders or shook his hips on command.

Balthazar didn’t show up at the club anymore. When they asked Benny about him, his face went somber.

“He’s at home, resting,” he told them. “The other night, after I told him about Crowley, it was like he was full of energy, like he had no time to waste. He told me to hand him all the presents he had prepare for you, that he wanted to give them to you personally while he still had the chance. He didn’t even let me come along. And when he came back it was like… he was exhausted. Like he couldn’t wait to…”

His voice trailed off.

“Like he couldn’t wait to go to the beach and drink margaritas for eternity?” Castiel offered.

That managed to put a sad smile on Benny’s face.

“I’d reckon he’d like that.”

“He said he was going to leave us his life insurance money,” Dean told Castiel when he asked him and Sam about Balthazar’s visit. “I said, ‘ _No way, man, we can’t take it_ ’. And he was like ‘ _Dean, are you going to deny a dying man his last wish?_ ’ And what could I say to that? It’s a lot. Enough to pay Sam’s last semester and then some.”

“So technically you don’t need to keep on dancing here,” Castiel pointed out.

Dean shrugged, but it didn’t come off as indifferent as he probably intended.

“What can I tell you? It just feels wrong to leave it now.”

That seemed to be the general feeling around the club. The captain couldn’t be there to sink with its ship, so they might as well stay until it sank completely. Because nobody knew what was going to happen to the club after Balthazar died; not even Benny. Balthazar had also left money to him and Gadreel, and he had called a modeling agency that would give Michael a chance to work with them. It seemed like Balthazar had used his dying breath to leave them ready to move on from the Heaven and Hell.

Like he knew the place wouldn't be the same without him and he was telling them that it was okay, that they were allowed to keep their lives going without him.

And the mood behind the scenes was bleak at that realization, but in front of the clients, it might as well ben their best week in months. They danced like they were in frenzy, like every night could be the last, like Benny could call them to the backstage at any second to tell them the worse had happened. The list of clients requesting private dances had never been stronger, and sometimes Castiel left the club with almost five hundred bucks in small rolls in his bag. That was more than enough to take Meg out somewhere nice. Maybe she would like to come to the club sometime, like she did in the old times, to relax, show the guys her sketches and how the paintings were progressing and then they could walk back home with their arms around each other's waists.

He missed doing that with her. Since she'd started working for the exhibit, and even though she did take breaks when he goaded her to do it, it was like they hadn't spent as much together. They hadn't spent a night just talking and getting high and lazily making love in a while. They hadn't gone for a coffee at the café where Ruby worked and she hadn't gone to the store with the excuse to buy something, but really only to flirt with him for a little while and ask him what they should have for dinner. He understood sometimes that was how it was going to be in a long term thing, but he really wanted to have her all to himself again for a while.

But once the summer had passed and the exhibit was over, she would start again with the hectic rhythm of college and he... well, he would have to find another job. Or go to auditions again. Or...

He didn't want to think about it. The forms and the recommendation letters Balthazar had brought him were still on the table where he had left them. He hadn't read them or touched them since. The deadline for sending them was in the middle of August, but he knew by experience the sooner he sent it, the earlier he'd get an audition with the Academy. So he should do that, soon. That very week. Tomorrow, even. That had always been his goal all along, right? That had been why he had left home and his family and Daphne behind. He'd always told himself and everybody who would listen that was what he wanted to do: work in the club until September, then go to the audition and pass it this time around, then become a professional dancer. It was pretty simple, and it had seen pretty simple even as he took all those little detours in the meantime: working at the club, making friends with the guys, falling in love with Meg. All the time, everything he did, was to bring him closer to that end.

And now that he was so close, now that he could see the proverbial finish line just ahead of him, he found himself hesitating. What would he do if he failed the audition once again? If Balthazar died and the club closed, he wouldn't have that job to fall back on. He could live off his savings as he had in the beginning, but he knew already that would only keep him going for so long until he needed to start thinking about the future again.

And the sly digs Tom did at the fact he didn’t contribute with the house economy were starting to have an effect on him, alright. Meg had been generous enough to take her into her home and into her bed, but they’d never said it was something permanent and now with Hael there (and her _clear_ intentions not to go anywhere), perhaps it was time he did move away. He knew the tattoo business wasn’t always as blooming as they expected it to be and Meg had student loans to pay back. The last thing he wanted was to be a burden on them while he figured himself out and while his cousin figured herself out. He was really abusing their hospitality.

He stopped at the studio’s door with a long sigh. There were so many things he needed to solve, and he had to do it by himself. He didn’t want to burden anyone else with his problems, but he would have to make a decision, and he would have to make it soon.

Perhaps it was time he abandoned his stupid ideas of entering the Man of Letters Academy. Perhaps he _was_ Icarus, stubbornly flying too close to the sun and getting shocked every time his wings got burned. Perhaps it was time to fly a little lower and a little safer.

He would decide it in the morning. It had been a long night and he was tired. Perhaps, if Meg was still awake painting, he would convince her to come to bed with him and he would bury his problems away in her skin for a couple of hours.

That sounded like a good plan.

He climbed the stairs yawning, and for a second or two, he didn’t register what he was seeing. The couch where normally Hael was curled up sleeping or wide awake waiting for him was empty that night. All her blankets were balled up on the floor for some reason, like she had kicked them away or got up in a rush for some reason.

At first, Castiel didn’t make a big deal out of it. She was probably in the bathroom and would come out any second. He moved to the kitchen to have a glass of water before going to bed. Maybe Meg would like one as well, so he looked for another one. And if he hadn’t done that, if he had just gone to the room and got to bed, he would have gone to sleep that night in the innocent belief that his cousin, his teenager, just-turned-eighteen-and-graduated-high-school cousin, was in the bathroom.

But because he stayed in the kitchen long enough to hear a door creak open, he had to be confronted with the reality that was not the case.

“Hey, Hael,” he greeted her, and he still had one nanosecond in which to remain with his back to her and not find out what she had been doing. “Do you want something to drink?”

He turned around with the jar of water still in his hand and an empty glass in the other one. Hael was standing almost on the tip of her toes, and she visibly cringed in the dim light from the kitchen.

“I…” she muttered, looking every bit like a deer caught in the headlights.

But Castiel had already noticed she wasn’t coming out of the bathroom. In fact, she was closer to Tom’s door than to the bathroom’s door. That was odd. Why would she be coming out of Tom’s room at that hour?

Then Tom came out of his room and every chance for Hael to find a mildly reasonable explanation and for Castiel to suspend his disbelief for long enough to buy it went to hell.

“Hey, kiddo,” Tom called her. “Don’t forget these.”

He was handing her a pair of white panties with black polka dots, smiling like that was some sort of private joke. But he noticed Hael expression and looked around to try and find the cause.

“Oh,” he said when he saw Cas, and very slowly, he hid the panties behind his back. “Uh… hi.”

 

* * *

 

The sudden shattering of glass against the floor woke Meg up from the light slumber she had fallen into minutes before. Granted, sleeping on her desk with her head buried in her arms wasn’t the most comfortable thing, but when she let her workaholic ways get out of control and her boyfriend wasn’t around to remind her to cut that shit out, it happened more often than she’d like to admit, and she had sort of got used to it. She unstuck the paper from her cheek and groggily wondered why there was someone screaming in the living room.

Wait, no, that wasn’t someone. That was Castiel. Castiel had come home and he was screaming and that was… yeah, there was definitely something wrong. Castiel never screamed; he never lost his temper like that.

She rubbed her eyes and wondered if she had time to wash her face before she had to go and see what was going on, but now Tom was screaming too, and… Hael? Was that Hael? She never heard the literal ray of sunshine screaming, so she couldn’t be sure, but damn. What kind of party was she missing out on?

"See? I knew you'd react like this; it's why I didn't tell you!

"How else did you expect me to react? What the hell were you thinking?!" Castiel was shouting when Meg came out of the room. His face was living with rage and his fist were close in tight fists. He had a foot in front of the other, like he was about to pounce at Tom... who was sort of pathetically cowering behind Hael.

"I'm eighteen!" Hael argued. She was also angry as all hell, but instead of pale, her face was red and she seemed like she was at the brink of tears. "I can do whatever..."

"No, you damn well can't!" Castiel interrupted her. "Especially with someone ten years older than you!"

"I'm actually nine years older..."

"Shut up!" Castiel snapped at Tom. "Just... just... shut up."

Tom had the good sense of doing exactly that. Meg thought that was a good moment as any to intervene.

"What's going on here?"

Castiel seemed confused to see her, almost as if he'd forgotten she lived there too. Hael, on the other hand, was relieved to see her, as if she thought Meg would automatically take her side out of some form of weird female solidarity.

"Meg!" she exclaimed, running towards her (which was a bad idea, because now Tom was exposed for Castiel to attack). "Please tell him it's okay that I'm dating Tom!"

Meg closed her eyes for a second, and only opened them again to glare at her brother.

"Oh, you didn't."

"Why are you making me feel like I'm some sort of predator?" Tom asked, although he cast his eyes down in guilt. "I just..."

"I said shut up!" Castiel repeated. He had his hands on his temples. Meg had the distinctive impression he'd put them there not to go for Tom's neck.

“Okay,” she sighed. “I think we all need to calm down right now. Tom, get lost.”

Tom opened his mouth to protest, but when he noticed Castiel’s eyes on him, he realized Meg was probably saving his life. He quietly retreated inside of his room, and if he knew what was good for him, he would remain there for the rest of the day.

“Castiel, sit down.”

“No,” Castiel said, still piercing the closed door with his eyes, almost as if he hoped his murderous intentions would go right through it and magically set Tom on fire.

“Sit down,” Meg repeated.

She grabbed Hael by the shoulders and dragged her towards a chair. Hael didn’t resist. It was almost like she knew this was going to take more than puppy eyes and determination to convince Castiel he didn’t need to commit manslaughter.

After a few more seconds, Castiel breathed deeply and sat in front of his cousin. Meg would have left them there, but she wasn’t sure they could handle the situation by themselves. Damn, when had she become the mediator in conflicts? She usually was the one causing them.

Some minutes passed in which both cousins avoided each other’s eye. In the end, Castiel was the first to speak:

"When did this happen? How did this happen?"

In Meg's opinion those were two different questions that had about the same answer. She had noticed her brother glancing insistently Hael's direction after they'd gone sightseeing together. That had also been around the time Hael had come to Meg to ask her where she went to get her contraceptives. So, in a way, it had been Castiel who had pushed Tom and Hael together, but she was sure it'd never had occurred to him that they would feel attracted to each other.

They were ten years apart, for crying out loud. The girl was barely out of high school. If Castiel didn't beat the crap out of Tom, Meg would do it herself.

"I... I didn't mean for it to happen." Hael sighed. "I just... you and Meg were always so busy, and Tom might seem rough on the outside, but on the inside..."

"He's a major idiot?" Meg offered.

"... he's sweet, and he really cares," Hael said instead, leading Meg to wonder if she was talking about the same Tom she knew. "He helped me organize Meg's party and he..."

"Stop," Castiel pleaded. "Just... stop."

"Well, you were the one who wanted to know," Hael said, and she did have a point there. "Please, don't be mad at me."

"Oh, I'm not mad at _you_ ," Castiel said, rubbing his temples again like he felt a migraine starting.

"Don't be mad at Tom either," Hael begged. "He didn't want to date me. He said I was too young, but I kept asking him too and I..."

"Oh, honey, he was probably just trying to save face," Meg commented, clicking her tongue with disapproval. She hoped Tom was listening to all of this from behind his door.

"I _wanted_ to," Hael insisted. "It was _my_ choice."

Meg and Castiel could have argued that the choices of an eighteen year old runaway who had no idea what she wanted to do with her life didn't amount to much. But in a weird way, Meg understood her. She had grown up sheltered her entire life and by some of the questions she had asked about birth control and other issues, it was clear nobody had ever sat down with her to have "the talk". Everything Hael knew about sex and relationships she knew from second-hand sources. She had run away from home to spite her mother, why wouldn't she have sex with a guy much older than her? Tom was just another in a long list of rebellions and new-found freedoms Hael was testing for herself. It was also probably exciting for her to do something she knew her family wouldn't approve.

And well, Meg had slept with a married guy. She was barely in any position to judge her.

Tom, on the other hand, she was never going to stop judging.

Castiel seemed to be reaching the exact same conclusion. He still didn’t look happy, but at least he wasn’t about to kill anyone anytime soon.

"You're... being careful, right?" he blurted out. His cheeks went red, almost like he actually didn't want to know exactly what Hael was doing, but he felt compelled to ask nonetheless out of duty.

Hael winced, embarrassed.

"Yes," she muttered. "So... does this mean you're okay...?"

"Absolutely not," Castiel replied, sincerely. "I am... so far from okay right now. But to be honest with you, I'm afraid if I try to tell you something, you'll just run away again. And then Aunt Amara will have my head."

It probably wasn't easy for him to just come out and say that, but that was the heart of the matter. He didn't want to push Hael further into her rebellious phase and get her to do something actually dangerous.

"That's fair," Hael admitted. "But, uh... if it makes you feel better, I've been looking into schools here in the city. Not colleges or anything like that; I don't want to ask my mom for money. But Tom said since I'm so good at organizing things I could try to become an event planner, maybe start my own business down the line... I don't know, something like that. So... I'm not running away," she concluded clumsily.

Meg was impressed. Tom had actually done a helpful contribution to Hael's decision about the future, and it wasn't one that included her wasting her life away before she hit her twenties. Perhaps he could live after all.

Castiel also seemed happy to hear that Hael was thinking about herself.

"That's good," he said, nodding. "Yeah, I think you'd be great at that. I'm glad you made that decision."

Hael smiled shyly. Meg was thinking the crisis had been adverted and she could finally make some coffee and start the day properly, when Tom's door cracked open.

"Umh... can I...?"

"No!" Castiel shouted at him. Tom closed the door quickly.

"How long are you going to be mad at him?" Hael asked, cringing.

"Forever," Castiel said. Meg didn't think he was exaggerating. "I am never going to stop being mad at him."

Hael's sass returned immediately after that affirmation.

"Well, guess you know what it feels like now, huh?" she asked, jerking her head to point at Meg. "By the way, I'm sleeping in his bed now. It's more comfortable than the couch."

She practically danced away and locked herself up with Tom before Castiel could answer. Castiel had a look of complete despair in his eyes when Meg put a mug of coffee in front of him and sat down by his side.

"Don't worry," she told him. "I'm sure Tom won't do anything stupid. Well, stupider."

"Because he knows I'll be keeping a close eye on him?" Castiel asked.

And Meg had to admit that yes, Castiel had been pretty scary when angry. But he still didn't hold a candle to her.

"No, because he knows I still have the gun he used to shot me."

Castiel apparently deemed that a good enough reason to stop worrying. He sank his face on Meg's neck with a deep sigh. She ran a hand through his hair until she saw the tension leaving his shoulders at once.

"It's going to be okay, Cas," she said.

"I know it's going to be okay for now," he sighed. "I just don't know how is it going to be when my aunt finds out about this."

"Well, I reckon that by then your mom can vouch for us," she snickered. "I mean, if she's as conservative as you say, she might be a bit freaked out by my appearance, but I can be charming enough to earn her favor."

Slowly, Castiel moved away from her and stared at her face, unblinking as if she had suddenly started speaking in a different, incomprehensible language.

"You want to meet my mother?" he asked.

Meg had been joking, but now that she thought about it, she realized that being in it for the long run meant she was eventually going to.

"Why is that surprising?" she asked instead. It irked her a little. She had been told before she wasn't 'take home to mom' material, but Castiel was different. Everything was different with Castiel, right?

Of course it was. That's why he laughed and shook his head and pulled her closer.

"I guess... everything's a bit unclear," he explained, leaving a soft peck on her temple.

"Or maybe we're just distracted," she suggested. "Otherwise we would have noticed this whole mess a lot earlier."

"Perhaps we should have. For me, well... I find it hard to stay on top of things right now."

Right. With the heavy revelation of Balthazar's death and his audition for the MOL Academy looming closer, she supposed he had enough on his hands. Hell, the envelope with the forms and the letters of recommendation was still on top of the bills and things that needed to be paid, because he kept forgetting to send it. The only reason it hadn't been swallowed by the general disorder of the Master's household was because Hael did her damnest to keep it at bay.

Perhaps bringing up his mother hadn't been Meg's most brilliant idea. Perhaps she needed to find another way to let him now she was on his corner and taking care of him despite her frequently getting lost inside of her own head.

"Don't worry about it," she said, passing an arm around his neck to bring him closer. "Things will fall into place at some point."

At least, she really hoped so.

"Yeah." He put a hand on her chin and gently turn her head to kiss her. "Let's go to bed. Please."

She couldn't say no to that request.

 

* * *

 

Things sometimes fell into place and other times, as Castiel would discover, they conspire so everything would fall apart.

It was Friday night at the club, a hot summer night with a lot of clients lining outside the door. It was hard to believe that just a few months ago Castiel had been nervous about this particular night of the week. By now, he had already got used to the frantic rythym, to pushing all thoughts aside inside of his mind while he was on the stage except for the music and the movement of his body. He smiled and winked and graciously accepted the bills the clients stretched towards him.

This was the routine that kept his now near-constant sense of dread at bay. This was something he had learned to do without worrying about anything else. Yes, the doubts would come for him once he stepped down and got dressed, but while he was Icarus, he didn't need to pay attention to them.

"Norah!" he exclaimed when he realized who the client that beckoned at him from one of the booths was.

"Hello," Norah greeted him. Her cheeks were red, perhaps for the heat, perhaps for the drinks she'd had. There were two empty glasses in front of her and she had a third in her hand.

"Another bad date?" Castiel guessed, although his other boss didn't look as she had the last time she'd been there. She had a more casual look, with her hair falling over her shoulders and a blue dress that favored her greatly.

"Oh, no." She shook her head. "No, not at all. Just... I felt a little lonely. It's stupid, I know."

She smiled awkwardly, almost as if she expected Castiel to laugh at her and was giving him permission to. Castiel planned to do no such thing.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" he offered instead.

Part of him was hoping she wouldn't ask for a private dance, because he wasn't sure that was a line they could come back from. And luckily for him, she seemed to think the same thing:

"That... guy you introduced me to the last time... uh, is he working tonight?"

"Yes, of course. You want me to call him for you?"

Norah nodded, her cheeks even redder than before. Castiel wanted to tell her there was nothing to be ashamed of, but he figured that would only make her even more uncomfortable. Instead, he moved to the bar to ask about Gadreel's whereabouts. Rudy indicated the backstage (where he probably was with a client) and Castiel moved to look for him.

He found Benny instead. He was talking on the phone, his eyes wide and terrified.

"What do you mean? Daphne, what... where are they taking him now?"

The note of panic in his voice was what made Castiel freeze where he was. Was it...? Had it...?

"I don't care what they told you!" Benny shouted, hitting the wall with a balled fist. "I'm going there right now!"

He ended the call and stood where he was, breathing heavily and blinking to disperse the tears forming at the edge of his eyes. He was looking in Castiel's direction, but he had the impression he wasn't seeing him at all.

And Castiel realized that night the worries had raised up to meet them.

"Benny?" he called, stepping closer towards him. "What happened?"

Benny shook his head. He still looked lost, like a child who had suddenly stopped seeing their parents in the crowd around them and was desperately trying to relocate them.

"He... he collapsed," he said. He didn't need to clarify who he was talking about. "The nurse called an ambulance. He doesn't want to die in a hospital. I have to go..."

"Benny." Castiel took a step forwards and put a hand on his shoulder. A sensation of dread and fear had settled in his stomach, but he ignored it as the bouncer turned his gaze on him. "I'll come with you, okay? I'll..."

"No," Benny said. He took a deep breath, and when he opened his eyes again, he was recovered, strong and composed and ready to take charge of the situation. "You stay. Tell Rudy he's going to have to close, but don't tell the guys where I'm going or why. Balthazar doesn't want the show to close because of him, you understand."

Castiel felt the need to argue that was ridiculous, that of course he was going to tell them... and then he realized that Balthazar was running out of time and Benny was still there arguing with him.

"Of course," he said. "Go. We'll take care of things here."

"Thank you."

Benny didn't even look over his shoulder as he hurried for the exit. Not that Castiel could blame him. He remained right where he was, because his feet suddenly felt like lead and he had no idea how to explain what just happened to Rudy.

One of the private rooms' door opened and a client walked out with a wide, satisfied smile on her face. The contrast against how Castiel was feeling was almost rude. He wanted to grab her by the arm and scream at her, ask her how she could possibly smile in a moment like that...

"Castiel?" Gadreel was standing on the door, shirtless and wearing only his favorite ripped jeans. "Did something happen? You look pale."

And Castiel realized at that moment that there was no way he could lie to them.


	21. Chapter 21

The receptionist at the hospital was giving them the stink eye, and Castiel couldn't blame her. They probably looked exactly like what they were: a group of men that had been up all night and smelled like booze and body oil. Michael still had glitter all over his neck and face, in fact.

After being told several times that they couldn't know anything about Balthazar's state unless they were immediate family or an authorized emergency contact, Dean had a brilliant idea:

"Well, we're just going to wait here then. Benny's ought to come out at any second."

He'd stated it like it was the only logical solution. But no one came up with anything better, so they stayed right where they were, and sat in absolute silence, trying to ignore the confused looks that both the patients and the people from the hospital were giving them.

It just didn't feel right to say anything in a moment like that. After Castiel had told them all about the phone call Benny had received, they had all agreed they would keep going until it was closing time. And then they would go directly to the hospital, because Balthazar's instructions be damned, they wanted to be there for him and for Benny.

"No, you tell us what hospital he's in, or we're going to hit every single one until we find you two," Dean had argued on the phone when they'd called Benny to find out exactly where they should be going. "We're going to do it, Benny. You're not here to stop us. So why don't you tell us where you are and save us all some time...? Thank you, was that so hard?"

"Man, he's going to be so devastated," Ash had commented during the trip to the hospital in the backseat of Dean's car.

"I supposed we're all going to be," Castiel had answered, looking out of the window absentmindedly.

"Yeah, but Benny especially," Sam muttered under his breath.

"He cares deeply about Balthazar..."

"Cas, please tell me you know," Alfie had interrupted him.

Castiel stared at them, frowning in confusion.

"Know what?" he'd asked, completely uncertain about what he was supposed to be saying right then.

"Woah," Dean said. "And I thought I was completely clueless about it."

Nobody bothered clarifying what they were talking about, and Castiel didn't think it was the moment to interrogate them about it. So they remained quiet all the way to the hospital and in the waiting room. It just didn't seem like the moment to make small talk.

"You're so pretty, Charles," someone said.

Castiel startled and turned his head. An old woman with white hair and a dreamy expression in her eyes had her chair parked by his side and was looking at him with a dreamy expression in her eyes.

"That's... that's not my name," Castiel tried to argue.

"Okay, Janice, your grandkids are here," a nurse said, pushing the old woman's chair away. "Let's get you to them, okay?"

"Goodbye, Charles!" Janice said, waving a hand at Castiel.

Dean chuckled at Castiel's light confusion.

"You're a real hit with the ladies, am I right?" he commented, jovially.

"I supposed we all are, in a way," Castiel said, and Dean chuckled even further. "But there's only one I care about."

"Oh, yeah, you and your girlfriend," Dean said, rolling his eyes. "You're so happy is nauseating."

"What is wrong with being happy with my girlfriend?" Castiel frowned.

"Nothing, there's nothing wrong with that." Dean shrugged. "Just... you know, once she got you in the sack, she stopped coming over to the club."

"Perhaps because Benny gave me a stern warning about how unprofessional that looked," Castiel pointed out. "Likewise, I don't interrupt Meg when she's tattooing people or going to classes..."

"I get that, I get that," Dean said, rising his hands defensively. He obviously had meant something different, and Castiel waited until he could think of a clearer way to say it. "Just, you know... I saw you going from this very shy guy who didn't even know how to behave around the clients to being head over heels for this girl in like, a couple of months. That's breakneck speed, if you catch my drift."

"I... actually don't," Castiel admitted. "I don't understand what you're trying to tell me, Dean."

Dean opened, then closed it again. It was as if he was looking for a way to put it that wouldn’t be terribly offensive to Castiel.

"I'm trying to ask you if maybe you don't feel like you rushed into it?" he asked in the end, cringing like he thought Castiel would hit him for it. "I mean..."

Castiel understood what he meant. He had been with Meg about seven months (it would be seven in a couple of weeks) and he had... experimented so many things with her that he'd never thought he would with another girl. And sometimes they spoke about her meeting his mother and marriage, and he had the feeling they were only half-jesting.

And just like that, the feeling of confused dread came back to his stomach in full force. Because the future was so uncertain, but coming at him in full force again. Like a large wave that could wash up everything he had in that moment.

Castiel shook his head and tried to put aside those thoughts. But Dean was looking at him with clear green eyes, and he couldn't really lie to his friend.

"In truth..."

He never finished the phrase. Benny was coming down the aisle. His shoulders were slumped and his face somber. All the members of the Heaven and Hell stood up at once, even though Castiel's knees were trembling, and he could see that Alfie had paled all of the sudden.

Benny looked at them with eyes that looked too big for his face, and for a terrifying moment, Castiel was so sure he was going to tell them that it was all over, that Balthazar had ceased to exist and he appreciated they had come, but it was a bit too late.

"It was a crisis," he told them instead. "Just... a small crisis, and the nurse freaked out. He's still..."

His voice trailed off, almost as if he didn't dare to complete the phrase in case he jinxed it. All eight men let out a sigh of relief at the same time, but Castiel knew it was a false sense of security. Balthazar was still dying; he just hadn't died on that particular day.

"Can we see him?" Rudy asked.

"He's resting now," Benny explained. He put on a sad smirk (it was like it physically pained him to contort his lips like that) and stared directly at Castiel. "You suck at keeping secrets."

"I'm sorry." Castiel lowered his eyes.

"No, it's fine," Benny shook his head. "You can come back later if you want, guys. He's going to be here until noon and then I'm taking him back home."

"Someone should stay with you," Gadreel suggested.

"There's no need..." Benny started, but his protest was interrupted by a loud discussion that break out about who was less tired or didn't get tachycardia from drinking the unhealthy amounts of coffee needed to stay up until Balthazar was ready to leave the hospital.

"Look at you, you're a zombie. You're going to start eating brains at any second now."

"I once spent twenty-six hours without sleeping. I can handle this."

"Kid, you look like you're about to die. Go home, Alfie."

The receptionist shushed them, so they continued their argument in hurried angry whispers, because they were all very tired from the night's work and the stress of worrying about Balthazar, but none of them was willing to admit it.

"I say we leave it to fate," Michael suggested in the end, and everybody agreed that was the most sensible solution.

Ash got the short straw. He pumped his fist in the air and flailed down on the chair next to Benny.

"Don't worry, big guy," he told him. "Dr. Badass' got you back."

Benny would later tell them Ash proceeded to fall asleep five minutes after they all left. But it was the intention that counted.

 

* * *

 

Meg was waiting for him with toasts and a steaming mug when Castiel arrived to the apartment.

"How's he?" she asked.

Sometimes Castiel forgot that Meg had known Balthazar longer than he had. Maybe not personally, but she would feel his loss as well when it came to happen.

"He will pull through this," he said. He didn't make any mentions of what would happen afterwards. He took the mug to his lips and put it down with surprise. "Tea?"

"I figured you needed to rest," Meg explained.

"I thought you were such a coffee fiend tea wasn't even allowed in this household," he joked.

"Well, you know, sometimes I need to slow down too," she said.

Castiel chuckled between his teeth and sank his face in her neck once more. There were many things he wanted to tell her about the bleak thoughts that had been plaguing him lately, about how thankful he was that she had been there all that time for him, patiently caring for him and supporting him while he distinctively felt he had not done the same in return.

But he was so tired he didn't think his words would make any sense, and when she ran her fingers through his hair, slightly scratching his scalp like he was a cat that needed extra affection, all he could do was sigh and snuggle closer to her.

"Go to bed," she whispered in his ear.

That was the best idea he’d heard all day.

 

* * *

 

Someone was poking him in the shoulder. Castiel groaned and turned over, but the poking only continued on the other shoulder.

"Cas, wake up. Wake up, this is really important."

It was Hael. Of course it was.

"I had a really long night," he muttered, sinking his head in the pillow. "Can it wait?"

"No, no it can’t," Hael said. "It can't wait, Cas, please open your eyes. You have to pick up this call, they won't wait forever."

The urgency in her voice was what finally gave his brain the signal that something out of the ordinary was happening. And of course, the minute he managed to come back to his full senses, his mind immediately went to the worst of places.

"What is it?" he asked, the familiar fear fluttering in his stomach again. "Is it one of the guys at the club? Did Balthazar...?"

"No," Hael shook his head, and only then Castiel noticed she was grinning. It seemed so completely out of place against everything he was feeling he almost wanted to scream at her what was so funny. "It's actually... it’s good news, but you have to sound awake."

"What do you mean?" Castiel rubbed his eyes, but he barely had time for anything else. Hael had grabbed his hand and was pulling from him to get up. And for a girl her size, she was remarkably strong, because the next thing he knew, he was staggering out of bed and thanking God he had put on his sweatpants before going to sleep. "Hael, what is going on?"

"Just take the call," Hael insisted as she guided him outside the bedroom and into the living room, where the wireless phone was standing on the table like it was hailing him.

Castiel still wasn't too sure what was all the fuss about, but he grabbed the phone and placed it against his year.

"Hello?" he muttered, suppressing a yawn.

"Am I speaking with Mr. Castiel Novak?" the female voice at the other end asked. It had a slight British accent, and Castiel's mind still related that to Balthazar. He was thinking about calling Benny as soon as this business ended and not really paying attention to his answer:

"Yes, this is he."

"Mr. Novak, I'm Miss Bela Talbot from the Men of Letters Arts and Dance Academy," the woman at the other end explained. "We just called to confirm that we have received your application and curriculum, and we're scheduling your interview and audition for Thursday, September the First."

Every single thought in Castiel's mind vanished, like a frightened flock of doves taking flight. The Academy held a week of auditions during the last week of August. It was too parts: an interview during the morning and audition later that same afternoon. But how could they have done that? What did she mean they had received his application? He hadn't sent one. He had sent one the past year, but not this one...

"Mr. Novak?"

"Yes." Castiel blinked and brought his attention back to the woman on the other end. "Yes, I'm still here."

"We will send you an e-mail the week before to remind you of the date and time. We beg you to please be punctual to both events."

She sounded almost bored, as if she had made dozens of calls that day alone. Castiel couldn't for the life of him remember if she had been the same woman that had called him the previous year.

"Yes," he repeated like a robot. "Uh... thank you."

"Thanks to you for considering us. Congratulations and good luck to you."

She hanged up before Castiel could add anything else. So he stood there for a couple of seconds, looking at the device in his hand almost like he couldn't comprehend the enormity of what had just happened. He had been so hesitant and so stressful these past couple of weeks that at first it didn't hit him that this was what he wanted. This was what he had worked his ass off all year. This was... his goal, his finish line. A second audition. The thought alone made beads of cold sweat start dripping down his back.

Hael, on the other hand, seemed completely oblivious to the turmoil he was going through.

"So?" she urged him.

"I... I have a new audition," Castiel said, and listening to the words out loud made the experience all the more surreal. This couldn't be happening to him. There had to be a mistake of some sort. Should he called Miss Talbot and ask her if she got the number and the name right?

"Oh, my gosh!" Hael exclaimed. Her grin grew wider and she put her hands together as she started giving little jumps, like the excitement was so much she could barely contain it. "Oh, my gosh! This is so amazing, Cas! Congratulations!"

She jumped into his arms so suddenly Castiel had to hang onto the table so they wouldn't end up on the floor. Hael laughed, elated, and started rambling on about all the things Castiel needed to do now: he had to prepare a routine that would woo the judges, he had to start training and picking his outfit and the song he would dance to, and he had to call his mother and he had to...

"Meg!" Hael remembered, hitting herself in the forehead. "We have to tell Meg, right now! She's going to be so happy!"

"Yes... wait, Hael." Castiel stopped her before she could jump the steps downstairs, as she always did instead of climbing them down like a normal person. "Where is Meg anyway?"

"In the studio, working on a guy," Hael told. "You know, one of those buff biker types..."

"Then we shouldn't interrupt her," Castiel said. "I don't think her client would appreciate it if he has to wait for her to congratulate me before she finishes his tattoo."

Hael snapped her fingers as if she hadn’t thought of that and was commending Castiel for doing it in her place. Then she groaned and started giving little hops again.

“But this is so important! I’m sure she wants to know…!”

“Of course, and I will tell her,” Castiel assured her. “But I want to tell her when she can… I want to see the look in her face.”

“Oh, I get it!” Hael squealed. “Oh, God, you guys are so cute… can I tell Tom, though?”

Castiel couldn’t fathom a reason why Tom would care, or wouldn’t. He could never know with him, so he figured it didn’t matter if she told Tom or not. And besides, Hael looked like she was going to explode if she didn’t tell someone.

“Go ahead,” he said.

Hael squealed some more, hugged him again and ran off to find Tom.

With trembling hands, Castiel moved a chair and sat down. The phone was still on his hand, and it just didn’t make an ounce of sense. He should be as elated as Hael, he should be pumping his fist in the air and running to celebrate with Meg. He should be calling all his friends and telling them of his success. Balthazar. He should be calling Balthazar to thank him for everything.

But he wasn’t.

Because he hadn’t sent that application.

 

* * *

 

He had meant to send it. He had filled the forms and put them all together: the letters of recommendation from his old professors, and the new ones Balthazar had got from him. Then he had removed those ones, because he still didn’t think he had earned them, he didn’t deserve them. Then he had added them again to the bundle of paper inside the brown envelope he had stuffed and emptied three times at this point. Really, this was such an antiquated method to send these thing. Why couldn’t he just digitalize it and send it in an email? It was something he just couldn’t comprehend. It seemed like an unnecessary waste of energy to take it to the nearest post office. He would have to find the time to do that in between his two jobs and the already little time he dedicated to his girlfriend. Just the thought of it exhausted him.

So he had left the envelope… somewhere. Over the table? Over the kitchen counter? He couldn’t, for the life of him, remember where he put it. Maybe Hael had swept it away in her manic ordering impulses. Maybe he had shut it off in his night-table’s drawer, never to be seen or thought about again. A part of him was certain that was what he had done: put it away until the deadline for sending it in had passed. And then laugh nervously and look enormously disappointed and tell everybody that he had just been dealing with so many things that it had slipped his mind. Oh, well. He would try again the following year. Or never.

And that was why the call from the Academy had been so confusing to him. It didn’t take too much mental power to deduce what had happened: Meg had sent it for him. Who else would it be? Hael remained oblivious to all his fears and insecurities and Tom didn’t give a damn about whatever happened to him. It had to be her. And he knew, he knew she must have thought she was doing him a favor, that she was doing something good for him.

But Castiel was sitting on the chair, remembering the stern faces of the judges during his first audition, remembering the world seemed to cave in under his feet when they’d told him he wasn’t good enough. Remembering the humiliation and the fear he had felt sitting that night at his apartment, unable to sleep, not knowing if he would have to go back home or not. Not knowing if he would have enough money to fall back on while he waited for the following year. Not knowing why he had thought coming there was a good idea in the first place.

And now the following year had arrived, and Castiel could feel the gravity pulling down from him towards the waves all over again. He sank his face in his hand and tried to ignore the vertigo in his stomach, the familiar dread of nor seeing the road ahead with the same clarity as before.

He heard steps coming up. He lifted his head and there was Meg, her bleached blonde hair falling over her shoulders, the ink of her tattoos that he had traced with his fingers so many times shining under the lights. She was wearing her plaid dress with the wide belt, the same as when they’d first met. Or was it when she had finished his wings and they’d first slept together? He couldn’t remember.

“Hey, there, Clarence,” she said, grinning. “Hael tells me you have good news to share.”

She already knew what it was about. Of course she did. Castiel looked at her, and suddenly he realized, he had no idea what to say to her.

“So?” she insisted, taking a step closer. “Tell me, come on…”

“How could you?”

He didn’t know why he said that, but suddenly, he realized that was what he really wanted to know.

Meg froze, her smile faltering just a little.

“What?”

“You went behind my back,” Castiel continued. The fear and despair were now being replaced by a slowly growing anger. “You sent the application even though… you did it without consulting me.”

Meg was taken aback, but she recovered quickly.

“What was there to consult?” she asked. “Cas, that’s what you wanted. The first night we actually talked to each other, you told me…”

“You didn’t ask me!” Castiel insisted, raising his voice in the hopes it would drown out the voice in the back of his mind telling him she was right.

Meg’s mouth hanged open for a second, the very face of genuine incredulity. Slowly, she closed it and clenched her jaw, while her cheeks became red and her brown eyes started glimmering with an anger Castiel had never seen directed at him.

“Well, excuse me for trying to do something for you when you had so many things in your mind. And here I thought I was doing you a favor.”

If there was a moment to defuse the situation, to backtrack and apologize for overreacting, that had been it, but Castiel missed it completely.

“You weren’t… this is not a favor,” he replied. “Do you have any idea how strict they are? How much they demand from you? I haven’t had any time to prepare a routine, let alone practice it, and with everything going on at the club, how do you suppose I will do that? How, Meg? I’m going to make a fool of myself! Again!”

“Do you even realize what you’re saying right now?” Meg asked. “You’re giving me the same bullshit excuses I tried to put when you push me into entering the art exhibit…”

“That’s different,” Castiel insisted. “I gave you a choice to enter. You had taken that choice from me.”

“No, I haven’t,” Meg replied, wryly. “You can just not go to your audition, and keep being a failure of a stripper for the rest of your life. Oh, wait, you can’t do that either!”

It was Castiel’s turn to remain speechless. So it wasn’t that she didn’t know what he was going through. It wasn’t that she hadn’t realize the crossroads he found himself in. She knew it, and she had used that against him without any regards for him.

He couldn’t believe it. Not from her. From anyone else, perhaps, but not from her.

Meg seemed to be realizing what she’d just done, because the angry snarl in her face started to relax, almost, perhaps as if she was going to apologize…

“Hey!” Hael screamed, appearing atop of the stairs with a beam in her face. “Did you tell her? Did you hear, Meg? I’m thinking we should totally order a pizza to celebrate!”

Her happiness was a sharp contrast to the rage that had been boiling over between the two of them. And although she didn’t realize the tension of the moment, Tom, who was coming behind her, definitely did.

“Oh,” he muttered and placed his hands on Hael’s shoulders. “Hey, kiddo, how about we go into the room for a little bit?”

“What? Wait, why?” Hael asked, her upbeat attitude quickly dissolving in the face of what was going on. “Are you guys fighting? Why?”

Castiel didn’t even know how to begin to answer that question.

“I… I can’t be here right now,” he concluded.

He meant a lot more by it. He meant he couldn’t look at Meg in the eye right then and there. He meant he wanted to run away and go back to the conservatory where he was the best dancer and everybody was certain he would have a brilliant future.

He meant he was too much of a coward to admit every single thing she had said was right.

Meg didn’t even attempt to stop him when he dashed by her side.

“Fine,” she muttered. “Go.”

Hael seemed like she was going to stand in his way and force him to stay, but Tom pulled her at the side. The stairs were clear for Castiel to make his escape. Meg didn’t come running after him, she didn’t call him while he climbed them down and strode towards the studio’s door either.

Almost as if they had nothing to say to each other.

And Castiel knew that wasn’t true, but he still didn’t look over his shoulder once.


	22. Chapter 22

“Hey, don’t worry about it, man. You can totally crash here for as long as you want.”

“Yeah. Just as long as it isn’t _too_ long.”

Castiel wished he could tell which one of the Winchesters was joking, but in the state he was in, it was even harder than usual to take a cue from them. He wanted to scream, and cry, and somehow duplicate himself just so he could punch himself in the face. At the same time, he wanted to dig a hole on the ground and bury himself there, never to be seen again. Lying motionless in the Winchesters’ couch and pitying himself a little seemed to be a nice middle point.

He didn’t know how long he had walked around the neighborhood, replaying his fight with Meg in his head over and over again, trying to find the words, a way to make her understand the gravity of what she had done without her getting mad at him, because he knew she’d had good intentions, that she would never hurt him on purpose. She had been there during a lot of other hard things, like when he was kicked out of his apartment (which was, granted, at least partially because of her) or when he’d found out he was going to lose Balthazar’s invaluable support…

The thought depressed him so much he didn’t want to be alone anymore, but he also didn’t want to trace his steps back to the studio and have another fight with Meg while they were both still mad. And that was how he had ended up at Dean and Sam’s apartment. He had knocked on the door pathetically after an elderly neighbor let him inside the building. Dean had opened with a bottle of beer in his hand and his eyes had asked the question for him.

“I… I’ve had a falling out with Meg,” Castiel had explained.

“Come right in,” Dean had invited him, stepping aside.

And Castiel figured he must have looked exactly the way he felt, because Dean had proceeded to insist he should drink his grievances away.

“Best solution in the world, if you ask me,” he determined, trying to put a beer in Castiel’s hand. “Makes all your troubles go away.”

“Not really, because when you sober up, your troubles are still there and you have a hangover on top of them,” Sam argued from the chair where he was sitting reading.

Dean had called him a nerd for studying during what would be his last free summer before his last college semester; Sam had argued that was when studying was more important and the conversation had escalated into a name-calling hurricane from there while Castiel laid in the couch with an arm over his eyes, roaming his misery. He wished they would leave him alone, but their apartment was so cramped he probably could still hear them even if they went to fight in a different room.

That was an advantage of living in the studio. Meg and Tom’s room were far away enough that they never heard what the other was doing. Oh, God, the studio. If he broke up with Meg, he would have to go back and pick up all his things from there. That would be humiliating, and then, where the hell would he live? I wasn’t like finding an apartment was a ride in the park the last time, and he couldn’t bother Sam and Dean by crashing on their couch for an indefinite amount of time…

He moved his arm from his eyes to realize the brothers had stopped talking and they were both eyeing at him from the table. Sam immediately turned his gaze back to his book and Dean started picking up the dinner leftovers in front of them. Castiel realized they had been putting on that fight for his benefit, to distract him.

“Don’t… don’t worry about me,” he said. Laying hi head back onto the cushion. “I’m fine.”

“Sure. That’s why you’re looking for a tree to hang yourself from.”

“I’m not going to commit suicide, Dean.”

“What he means is that you look really down, Cas,” Sam explained. “We want to help. Tell us what we can do.”

“I…” Castiel started, but he stopped and hid his eyes again as he realized he didn’t know if there was anything that could make the situation better.

Dean took all the plates to the kitchen and came back with more beer, probably to keep company to the other two that Castiel hadn’t even drunk yet.

“Scoot,” he ordered.

He probably meant for Castiel to sit down, but what he did instead was shrink over himself as he turned over so he could end in a sort of fetal position, his feet closer to his body so Dean could sit down.

“That’s very mature,” Dean commented, holding the beer in front of Castiel’s face.

“I don’t exactly feel like acting like a grown-up right now,” Castiel groaned. He still grabbed the beer and let it hang from his hand languidly.

“Oh, come on, man, it could be worse,” Dean said. “You could be dying of cancer.”

“Dean, oh my God!” Sam scolded him, and even Castiel came out of his apathetic state enough to shoot him an offended glare.

Dean’s shoulders slump immediately. “Too soon?”

“Way too fucking soon. Balthazar’s not even dead yet!”

“He would appreciate the joke,” Dean muttered.

Castiel reckoned Balthazar would. He would also tell him he was being nauseatingly overdramatic, so the least he felt compelled to do was sit up on the couch.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I know I’m dumping all my problems on you, and they really don’t seem all that terrible when put into that perspective…”

“Cas.” Sam made his way to the couch and put a hand on his shoulder. “You’re allowed to be upset about whatever upsets you. Don’t pay attention to Dean.”

“No, pay attention to Dean!” Dean corrected him. “We were just talking about this this morning. You can’t just rush into serious relationship like that. These things end up happening.”

“These things end up happening to you because you have a severe phobia to compromise,” Sam replied, pointing an accusing finger at his brother. He walked around the couch and sat on the other end, so now Castiel was sandwiched between the two brothers and he couldn’t have laid down again even if he wanted to. “Relationships are not supposed to be easy all the time. You have to stick to them and work through the hard times.”

“Since when are you an expert, Dr. Phil?”

“It’s called ‘reading’ and ‘having common sense’.”

They started arguing again about Sam being a know-it-all and Dean being emotionally constipated beyond salvation. Castiel drowned out their voices, staring down at his bottle and tapping his fingers against his knee.

“I think,” he started, and the brothers went quiet immediately. “I think… maybe I didn’t make myself clear to Meg. She didn’t know how I was feeling about the audition, she thought she was helping me.”

“She still kind of steamrolled over you.”

“How is sending a letter steamrolling?” Sam asked, with an exasperated huff at his brother. “Steamrolling would be if she had asked Castiel to quit his job or something drastic like that. She did something she thought Castiel would be thankful for, she made a mistake. That’s not enough basis to totally ditch everything they had.”

“Weren’t you just saying he had the right to be upset whatever he wanted?”

“And I stand by it,” Sam clarified. “But if he wants to solve it, he has to see things from Meg’s perspective too.”

“And what about his perspective?” Dean asked. “Doesn’t that count at all?”

“I swear, Dean, if you’re about to turn this into a bros before hoes argument…”

Dean opened up his mouth, but before he could reply, his cellphone began ringing inside of his jeans’ pocket.

“This conversation isn’t over,” he threatened as he walked away to take the call.

“The point is, I think you need to talk to her,” Sam concluded now that Dean wasn’t there to interrupt him with his jarringly bad jokes and insistence that having a serious relationship was too much work. “I’m sure you can work this out somehow, Cas. And if you really care for her…”

“I love her,” Castiel interrupted Sam, because there was one thing he didn’t want to do and that was minimize his feelings towards Meg: “I love her, Sam.”

Sam’s eyebrows shot up his hairline. He seemed so surprised he was probably a second away from agreeing with his brother it was a little too soon for that, but Dean came back before he could.

“Hey,” he said. His tone was considerably softer, so Castiel could guess what the call had been about even before he told them: “That was Benny. He says Balthazar is at home and he’s resting. He’s not opening the club tonight, but he asks if we want to have dinner at their place.”

“Won’t that too much of a strain Balthazar?”

“Yeah, that’s the thing.” Dean scratched the back of his neck nervously. “He wants to see us. It’s… apparently it’s only a matter of time.”

And there was really only one thing they could reply to that.

“Does he want us to bring anything?”

 

* * *

 

In all the time Castiel had been working at the club, he never wondered where Balthazar lived. He never wondered how long it took him to drive there from the club, how he got along with his neighbors and what kind of decoration he would have in his walls. Now all of those things seemed like glaring omissions. He had never bothered to find them out and now that he was, all that information would soon be useless. He reflected on the fact no one could really know all the people in their lives as well as they might have wanted to, and sometimes they got to know them a little too late.

Because Balthazar must have known he was sick months ago, probably before or around the time he had hired Castiel. And he didn’t know what to do with that thought.

They picked up Alfie from his nearby place and drove about half an hour to Balthazar’s apartment. He actually lived in a nicer part of town than all of them, near the squares. His building looked luminous and orderly compared to the “dumpster we live in”, as Dean put it. It even had an elevator so they didn’t have to climb a bunch of stairs with the glass of wine they had brought with them.

“Hello, guys,” Benny smiled at them when he opened the door, despite the fact he looked just so pale and tired, with his hair disheveled and deep dark circles under his eyes, that he himself might have been too sick to smile. “Come on in.”

For all his cynicism and posturing, one thing could be said about Dean: he really cared about his friends.

“Woah, there, big guy. Have you been sleeping? You need me to help over at the kitchen? Sam, come and help us.”

He then proceeded to drag Benny into the kitchen. A chuckled from the couch follow them.

“Well, this promises to be an interesting night, does it not?” Balthazar said.

“Balthazar!” Alfie exclaimed. He run towards the couch, stumbled on the carpet, but managed to keep enough of a balance to give three little jumps and sit by Balthazar’s side. Balthazar laughed again and ruffled his hair like he was a kid.

“Now, there, little rockstar, how do you plan to madden the girls if you can even keep your balance properly?” he joked. “Look at Castiel, here. He floats on air.”

“You look good,” Castiel commented, sitting at the other side.

He wasn’t just saying that: the couple last time he had seen him, he had looked frail and a little at the edge of desperation, forcing a smile to make everyone else think he was better than he actually was. But right now, while still frail-looking from all the weight he had lost, he seemed a lot cheerful, his eye glimmering again and his smile sincere. It almost would have looked completely like his old self if it wasn’t for the cannula going inside his nostrils and the wheeled oxygen tank parked next to him. But Castiel could almost ignore that.

Maybe it was the fact he was in his home that made him seem like it, and that place was undeniably Balthazar’s: the walls were rubber duck yellow, with pictures and souvenirs from the places of where Balthazar had been hanging from them. They didn’t seem to follow any chronological or geographical order (there were tribal masks and dream catchers next to Chinese Fans and pictures of the Machu Picchu) and the result was one of mildly organized chaos. The couch was red with electric green cushions that didn’t match at all with the tiger striped carpet beneath them. Castiel sure hoped that was synthetic, but he had the answer to at least one of his questions: Balthazar adorned his walls with proof that he had lived a more intense life he’d ever had imagined.

“I feel good, darling,” Balthazar declared. “I’m sorry I freaked you all out the other day. The nurse just didn’t know she wasn’t supposed to call an ambulance. Dear Benny was furious and wanted to fire her, but I said, what for? She isn’t going to have to work here much longer, now, is she?”

“Oh, no.” Alfie lowered his eyes, saddened. “Please don’t joke about that.”

“It’s my death and I will joke about it if I please,” Balthazar replied, lifting his chin with pride.

“See? I told you he would appreciate it.”

Dean was on the kitchen’s doorway, smashing potatoes on a blue recipient with half energy.

“Doesn’t mean you can joke about it,” Balthazar said, glaring at him. “Especially if the joke is bad.”

“When has Dean ever made a good joke?” Alfie asked under his breath.

Dean’s offended face was pure comedic goal, and even Castiel, who felt slightly like he wanted to cry, had to crack a smile at it.

The doorbell rang again and Castiel got up before anyone could offer themselves to get it.

“We’re not late, are we?” Ash asked, showing Castiel the various six-packs of beer he and Rudy were carrying. “We brought the party, because we are the party.”

“Oh, that’s terrible,” Alfie commented. Castiel didn’t know if he was trying not to cry or not, but he definitely was sort of laughing right then. “That’s terrible, you guys.”

“There’s our songbird,” Balthazar beamed down at him. “Sing a tune while we wait for these useless pricks to finish our dinner, will you?”

“I am smashing as fast as I can!” Dean protested, but he visibly started moving his am faster.

“Nobody asked you to smash the potatoes!” Sam shouted from inside the kitchen.

“That’s, right we asked you to come here and help with the meat!” Benny added. “The potatoes were already mashed.

“I figured you guys had that under control,” Dean replied, walking back in visibly fuming. “And besides, they weren’t mashed properly. You have to keep going until they are all very creamy…”

“Someone needs a bit of alcohol,” Ash commented, dropping the six pack on the coffee table.

“That would be me, sweetheart,” Balthazar replied, passing an arm around Alfie’s shoulders. “I wouldn’t trust them with mouthwash until they are done handling sharp objects.”

“We’re perfectly capable of getting drunk and handling sharp objects!” Dean protested from the kitchen.

“Dean, stop arguing and help us with this!”

They three kept shouting loudly at each other while in the living room, they laughed, they drank and they completely ignored them. By the time Michael and Gadreel arrived, they might have been just a tiny bit tipsy, and the ambient was a lot cheerful than when Castiel and the rest first arrived.

“Glad to see you in such a good mood,” Gadreel commented.

“Oh, why wouldn’t I be? I get to spend time with all my boys tonight,” he said. “Tell me how you’ve been, what you’ve doing and what you’re going to do with your lives once I’m gone?”

“Well, they’re going to be a hell of a lot more boring, that’s for sure,” Ash said, without missing a beat. And Castiel was glad for it, because he certainly wouldn’t have known how to respond to that,

“I’m sure you’ll find something to entertain yourselves,” Balthazar commented. “Tell me what you are planning, come on.”

The silence that followed was uncomfortable but mercifully brief.

“I heard back from one of the agencies I sent my portfolio to,” Michael commented. “Yeah, they want me to do a group shot for a perfume commercial. It’s not that big of a deal, but hey, I gotta fatten my portfolio with everything I have.”

“Fatten the portfolio,” Rudy snorted. “Almost as if it’s a beast you’re going to have to slaughter and eat in the end.”

“It’s okay, Michael. I’m sure you’ll have the fattest portfolio in no time,” Alfie said. He winced and hid his face in his hands. “Oh, that’s also terrible. I have spent too much time with you guys. I’ve lost my ability to joke!”

“We are the funniest guys you had ever met!” Dean quipped, coming out of the kitchen with a steaming platter of extra mashed potatoes. “If anything, your joking ability must have improved. Now come here and eat your dinner.”

“Yes, mom,” Alfie, Castiel and Balthazar said in unison, and the way Dean rolled his eyes at them must have been the best joke in the entire night.

Not that there weren’t others: once they sat around the table and they all tacitly agreed to ignore the elephant in the room (symbolized by the fact Balthazar needed to lean on Benny to go from the couch to his seat and that he then barely touched his plate), the ambient improved greatly. It reminded Castiel of that time they had all been laughing and drinking before Crowley arrived with his ominous news. Except it was better, because Balthazar was there, and because at least for that night, the inevitable seemed too far away.

So they joked and they dined and drank unhealthy amounts of beer. Benny had really put a lot of thought into his dinner and the meat was tender and the potatoes, just as Dean had predicted, creamy. Castiel didn’t think they could have explained to a stranger who walked in on them laughing like middle-schoolers at that, not without getting them as drunk as they were first.

Every now and then, the conversation derived back to their plans for the future, always, Castiel noticed through the fog of his drunkenness, carried there by Balthazar himself. Dean had taken a double shift in his workshop, Sam was looking into internships to start with in September, Rudy and Ash were discussing the possibility to open a bar.

“I mean we spent so much time DJ’ing and shaking up drinks that’s all we know how to do at this point,” Ash complained, only half-joking.

“It’d be something small,” Rudy said. “You know, something… something classy.”

“Are you insinuating my establishment wasn’t classy?” Balthazar asked, raising a furious eyebrow at him.

“Not at all, I wouldn’t dare,” Rudy slurred. “No, sir, of course not…”

He kept denying it for five minutes straights until everybody burst into laughter.

“Will there be karaoke?” Alfie asked. “A bar is not a fun bar unless there’s karaoke.”

“Only if you promise to drop by and sings us some tunes now and then,” Ash said. “Well, in a couple of years when you can use your actual license, that is.”

“Well, I don’t know,” Alfie said. He beamed like he had been waiting all night to drop his news: “I might be a bit busy at Julliard. The late admissions came in and…”

“That is great!”

“Way to go, kiddo!”

“I’ll drink to that!”

Alfie looked flustered at all those demonstrations of affection and congratulations and his laughter was one of genuine happiness. Castiel looked at him out of the corner of his eye and wondered why he couldn’t feel the same way. Why he couldn’t shout from the rooftops that he had got another audition? Why couldn't he share that moment with all of his friends?

They toasted to Alfie's success and then Benny brought dessert: different flavors ice cream, and that at least Balthazar managed to swallow in amounts that at any other moment would have been unhealthy. Afterwards, they kept talking and joking and remembering anecdotes from the club. It seems as sadness and preoccupations just couldn't touch them that night.

They practically fled one by one when Benny announced it was time to do the dishes and he was going to need volunteers. Balthazar complained and told him it was far too early for that (it was only midnight, that was true), but Benny wouldn't hear it. And the truth was, Balthazar did look like he should have gone to bed hours before.

Because detested to see something unwashed or unclean, he immediately followed Benny into the kitchen (and dragged Sam alongside him), so Castiel and Alfie were once again alone with Balthazar.

"What a wonderful night," he commented, closing his eyes and leaning his head in the chair's back. "Benny was right. I wanted to see you all together one last time, but there was no way I could have gone to the club. So it was wonderful of him to bring the club to me."

He opened his eyes and he must have noticed the uneasiness in Castiel and Alfie's faces, because he laughed out loud.

"Oh, darlings, please. We know it's happening soon," he said with a shrug. "I've made my peace with it."

Alfie was tearing up, so he looked away. Castiel felt like there was one thing he could do for Balthazar. That even if he couldn't be happy about it, Balthazar could.

"I forgot to mention earlier," he said. "I've... I've got another audition at the beginning of next month. I got the call this morning."

A beam of satisfaction and elation lit up Balthazar's features, and for a moment, he looked pretty much like himself.

"That is excellent news! Have you started practicing? Oh, since the club is closed, you could do it there! Just tell Benny to give you the keys, you'll have all the space you need..."

"I'll talk it to him," Castiel promised him. "I'm sure he will help me wholeheartedly."

Balthazar stretched his hand to place it on Castiel's, still smiling at him.

"And what about wonderful Meg?" he asked. "It's a shame you didn't bring her, she is a delight to be around."

"I... well... she... she has an exhibition with some people from college coming up," Castiel said. That was, essentially, true. "So... she's busy with that. This could be very important for her, she could start to make a name for herself in the art gallery circuit and all..."

"I get that, I get that," Balthazar nodded. "I'm very glad to hear that. You're lucky to have someone who has the same passion and dedication than you, you know? Take care of that girl."

"I will," Castiel promised, hoping the twist his stomach made didn't show in his face. Balthazar had hit the nail in the head: he and Meg understood each other so well because they both understood how they needed their art to stay alive. No one was ever going to do all Meg had done for him, he was sure of that. And now he wouldn’t stop thinking about her again.

"Alright, kids, go to the bathroom if you need to get rid of all the beer you drank," Dean told them from the kitchen. "We're having no potty breaks 'til we get home, you heard me?"

Castiel didn't notice it until he was washing his hands. He was tired and sad, and all he wanted to do was go to bed and sleep off the feast and not think about all the things that were bothering him for hours.

Maybe that was why at first he didn't see it standing there, at the edge of the sink. But it was right next to the liquid soap, and he almost knock it off with the edge of his hand.

It was an orange bottle of prescription medicine, and there should have been nothing at all extraordinary about it. Castiel caught it in the air before it fell and was about to put it back where it was when he noticed the name. He frowned and only then he realized the bottle was unopened. Yet the prescription date written was from weeks ago.

He felt a lump forming in his throat.

"Hey, Cas, you ready?"

"Yes," Castiel said, forcing a smile as he joined the Winchesters and Alfie at the door. "Yes. Thank you for the dinner, it was great."

Benny gave him a bear hug and smiled at him tiredly.

Balthazar also hugged him, but he could sense the weakness in the arms he wrapped around his shoulders. His breathing was almost wheezing in his ear, like he had to think before every breath he took, even though the oxygen tank was right there next to him. His grey eyes looked dim, but he still managed to grin at Castiel.

"Take care of yourself, darling."

Castiel tried to think of something to say, tried to come up with something clever or lighthearted.

"Goodbye, Balthazar," was all he managed to say.

Alfie suffocated a sob and Sam passed an arm around his shoulder.

"Oh, please," Balthazar rolled his eyes at them. "Come my funeral, I forbid you to cry. Benny, if any of these assholes cries, make sure to kick them out, will you, dear?"

"I won't kick you out," Benny assured them under their breath.

They laughed and headed for the elevator. Balthazar waved at them, still smiling, leaning on Benny until the elevator doors closed.

"Well, that was nice," Dean commented. "We should do it again, before he, you know..."

"Yeah," Sam said.

Alfie blew his nose noisily.

 

* * *

 

Dean drew the line of his hospitality at having to share a bed with either him or his brother, and Sam was simply too robust for Castiel to sleep with him. He had assured the brothers he didn’t mind taking the couch, but that had been before he discovered just how uncomfortable and small it was.

Castiel stopped being surprised at the fact Hael had eventually succumbed to Tom's charms. Or the other way around. He too would have done anything not to be laying in that rickety, creaky, glorified armchair with only a blanket on him. He would do anything to be back on Meg's beg, snuggling against her hair, telling her of the bleak thoughts in his mind and to hear her say that he was making a storm in a teacup.

Maybe that was all there was to it. Maybe it was really just him, failing to look at things in their proper perspective and getting scared and angry for no reason at all.

He had a lot of time to think about it. Despite his exhaustion, despite the fact his brain was screaming for him to go to sleep already, he couldn’t. His eyes remained wide open while he tossed and turned, while he listened to the Winchesters heavy breathing coming from their room. He imagined calling for Meg the next day, what she would say, what he would tell her. He rehearsed the perfect apology in his head a thousand times, how he would make her understand he hadn’t meant any of the things he said, how he would convince her to take him back, because he needed her, goddammit, he needed her not to fly too close to the sea. Because he would rather burn with her than drown himself alone.

He must have fallen asleep at some point, because a phone ringing in the brother’s room woke him up.

Dean groaned and growled audibly before he picked up.

“It’s six thirty in the morning on a Sunday, so this better be good…”

His voice trailed off.

Castiel sat up and rubbed his eyes. His head hurt, but he resisted the impulse to hide his head in the pillow and fall asleep again. It wouldn’t last anyway.

“Oh,” Dean was saying. “Yes… yes, of course. I’ll… call everybody. Don’t worry about it. Benny? I’m sorry, man. I’m really sorry.”

Castiel felt the tears burning in his eyes, but he still tried to sound nonchalant when Dean appeared at the door in nothing but his sweatpants.

“What happened?” he asked, even though he already knew.

Dean fidgeted with the phone in his hand. He seemed a little disoriented.

“Balthazar passed last night, while he slept,” he said, with a softness that was almost uncharacteristic in him. “It was peaceful, it… I’m going to put coffee and then I’m gonna wake Sam up. We have to go. We have to call the guys, we have to help Benny with… yeah…”

His confusion disappeared as he started listing all the things he had to do. Castiel watched his back moving on the kitchen and took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He thought he was ready to hear the news, he should have been ready from the moment Balthazar had confirmed it was true. He should have been ready after seeing the unopened pills in his bathroom.

But under the cold grey light of that morning, he couldn’t hold back a sob.


	23. Chapter 23

It was a long day.

They called the others and organized turns to be around Benny. Ash and Rudy were the first ones there and stayed with him all morning long, helping him fill out papers and make the pertinent calls. By the time Castiel, Dean and Sam arrived, around midday, the doctor had already certified Balthazar's dead and the undertaker had already taken his... his body away.

Castiel shook the image from his head. It was much better to remember Balthazar onstage, cracking jokes and flirting with the clients. Or scolding at them for not getting a choreography right, or sitting on the other side of the desk telling Castiel he needed more confidence, he needed to spice up what he was doing.

But for all his good intentions, he couldn't help the pang of relief in his chest when he found out he wouldn't have to see him. Michael and Gadreel would be the ones to accompany Benny to the crematory later that day.

"He hated the whole idea of the coffin and the embalming," Benny explained. "He didn't want a wake or... you know..."

His voice broke and he looked away. Castiel had no idea how to answer to that, because he was too busy holding back tears himself. He had expected to find Benny devastated, crying out loud, sobbing, making a scene. Of course, that would have been completely out of character for his silent, calm demeanor. Instead, he was almost catatonic, barely functional. When Dean deposited a burger in front of him, he looked at it like he didn't know what it was.

"You need to eat something, man," Dean encouraged him.

"I'm not hungry..."

"You either eat or I'll hand-feed you myself," Dean replied, and he seemed completely serious about it.

Benny took a couple of bites and swallowed loudly before putting the burger back in the plate. Dean was satisfied.

"Remember, we're here for anything you need," Sam said, putting a hand on Benny's shoulder. "Anything at all."

Benny kept looking at the plate, and just when Castiel thought he wasn't going to say anything, he spoke:

"Could... this week... help me pack all his stuff away?"

"Woah, man, you sure you're ready for that?" Dean asked. "When our dad died, it took us months to gather the courage to even look at his stuff."

Castiel had never lost anyone close to him before, so he wouldn't know what was the appropiate waiting period before packing them up, but he still felt like that was way too soon.

"Dean's right, you can take all the time you need..."

Benny shook his head.

"It's only stuff, brotha'. He ain't in them." He rubbed his eyes. "He, uh... he had a lot of time to think what to do with them, you know, so it's okay. And the apartment's only paid until the end of the month, so... I have to vacate it. I... I don't want to stay here without him."

That made sense. They stayed with him all afternoon, a long, uncomfortable afternoon of silence and not a single idea what to say beyond how sorry they were and reminding Benny they were there for whatever he needed. Benny was too polite to say so, but Castiel had the feeling that after a while he just wanted them to leave him alone to his grief.

Of course, they weren't about to do that. The Winchester hadn't seen the sleeping pills, but even without them, they knew it wasn't a good idea.

"I... I had no idea Benny and Balthazar were so close," he commented later, after they left him with Michael and Gadreel. "I mean, he must have moved in when Balthazar started getting really sick, but..."

"Cas, really?" Dean cut him off. "You can't be that oblivious."

"They never made it too obvious, but still..." Sam agreed.

Castiel was about to ask what he meant, but the realization slowly dawned on him, and looking back, it was so obvious, he didn't know how the hell he could have missed it.

"Oh."

The Winchesters huffed and shook his head at him, but they didn't comment on his utter incompetence at understanding human relationships. They were probably saving it for another occasion.

And now Castiel felt even worse at not paying attention to Balthazar, at not knowing these things about him. The way he saw it, Balthazar had been a man that deserved to be remembered and it was a shame he would only have this fragmentary image of him.

Dean suggested they went to bed early, since the following day was going to be pretty heavy as well. Castiel decided to take a shower, but even before he walked into the bathroom he realized there was a little inconvenience with that plan.

"Uh... guys?" he called them.

The Winchesters were sitting in their table, staring into their cups of coffee and unusually quiet. But Dean had gone full on caretaker mode since that morning, so he snapped out of it pretty quickly.

"What is it, buddy? You have a problem with the faucet?"

"Do you.... have you got... could lend me some clean underwear?"

Castiel's cheeks were burning, especially when the Winchesters shot him identically disconcerted glances... and promptly burst into uncontrollable laughter. Castiel tried to remain serious and embarrassed through it all, but their laughter was so contagious he couldn't help but to crack a smile himself.

Maybe Balthazar had been right. Maybe crying wasn't the right way to face these kind of things.

"Okay, okay, sorry," Dean said, wiping the tears from his eyes and swallowing hard... only to start laughing again a second later.

"Cut it... cut it out!" Sam shouted at him, gasping for air in between chuckles.

"I'm sorry, I really didn't mean to... I just didn't think I would end up staying here for more than one night... Dean, please, this is very... this is very awkward."

"No shit," Dean commented, and Sam tried not to crack up, Castiel could see him trying... but in the end the younger Winchester buried his face in his hands while his shoulders shuddered with every giggle he tried to suppress.

"Okay... okay..." he said, taking deep breaths. "Sorry... I don't think we have... why don't you call home and tell them to bring you something? I'm sure Meg will put the feud aside... in view of the circumstances."

Castiel practically could feel the brief cheerfulness escape the room like the air escaped a punctured balloon.

"I'm sure she'll be willing to do that," he muttered.

It still took him several minutes before he gathered up the courage to plug his phone on the charger. The screen immediately lit up with half a dozen missing calls from Hael and increasingly worried messages about his well-being.

There was nothing from Meg.

"What the hell happened to you?!" Hael shouted at him as soon as she answered the call. "I have been trying to get a hold of you. You can’t go radio silent on me like that! Tom kept saying not to worry, that you were probably at one of your friend's house, but goddammit, you could have at least..."

"Hael," Castiel interrupted her and something in his voice must have given away how he felt, because she actually went quiet and listened to him. "Something happened last night."

Hael listened very carefully, and by the time he finished, it was clear that she had decided that all the insults and berating he deserved could be saved up for another day.

"Oh. Well, yes, of course, I can do that," she concluded. "I'm... I'm really sorry for your loss."

It sounded a lot like the things they had been telling Benny all afternoon, and Castiel appreciated it just because he knew how hard it was to find appropriate words for something like that.

"Thank you."

He didn't hang up. There was another thing he wanted to ask, but he couldn't bring himself to pronounce her name out loud.

"Meg was worried too," Hael said, as if she had read his thoughts. "She, uh... she didn't show it much, but she was. I could tell."

"Thank you," Castiel said, though he didn't know if he was thanking her from sparing him from having to ask or for lying so evidently to making him feel better.

"Do you want to speak to her? She's in her room..."

“No, Hael, please,” he stopped her. "I think... whatever Meg and I have to say to each other, it's best that we say it in person."

Hael stayed quiet and Castiel feared she was going to do it anyway, that she was going to scream Meg's name without telling her who was on the phone and he would have to confront her and all the stupid things he had said to her. But he simple didn't have the strength to do it right then, and he was about to beg Hael to please not to make him. Luckily, his cousin was a lot more mature than he gave her credit for.

"You're probably right," she admitted with a sigh. "Okay, I'll pick some of your stuff and take them to you later today."

He was glad to hear that up until the point when he ended the call and realize he had nothing to do except wait. Nora had been incredibly understanding about the entire ordeal and told him to take all the time he needed. Going back to Benny would just be pestering him.

And the Winchesters, well... they didn't seem in a rush to do anything. It was strange to see them like that: back in the club, they would have been bickering and running around with an almost manic energy, getting ready for the act while making crude sex jokes. But now, in their home, with an entire day of just waiting in front of them, they looked almost completely still. They had finished their lunches very slowly and now Dean was doing the dishes almost lazily, scratching every inch of them with more care than it needed to. Sam stayed on his chair, silently nursing the rest of his bottle of beer. Dean finished, dried his hands in his jeans and patted his brother in the shoulder, who looked up at him with a shy smile.

Castiel decided not to bother them. Whatever ritual that was, he felt like he wasn't allowed in and maybe that was a good thing. Maybe he needed to be alone with his thoughts at that moment.

He laid down on the couch and put his earphones on, passing the songs on his playlists until he found the one he was looking for. He listened to it once, following the rhythm with his fingers, soaking in the melody and the notes in the lyrics. When he finished it, he played it again, tapping his fingers against his thigh. He thought about Meg, about Meg's hands drawing wings in his back, Meg's laughter and the twinkle in her eye when she had a mischievous idea, Meg's head thrown back with her lips parted in ecstasy when she was on the edge of an orgasm. He thought about the colors on her skin and how sometimes they moved and beat with their own pulse under his fingertips when he was high. He'd never asked her the reason for her tattoos. There were so many things he hadn't been able to ask her...

Somebody touched him on the shoulder, startling him.

"Hey," Dean said. "She's here."

"Meg?"

"No, your cousin."

Hael and Tom were standing on the living room. Hael beamed at him with her usual peppiness and gave him a hug without saying a word. If she was still mad at him for disappearing, she didn't let it show.

"There you go," she said, handing him a duffle bag that weighted considerably more than it needed to for it being just clothes. He didn't even want to think what she had put in there. "I'm really sorry again... about your friend."

"Thank you," Castiel said. "He... he had made peace with it, and I think that's helping a lot."

Hael nodded and brusquely changed the topic.

"I brought Tom here because he has something to say to you. Tom?"

Tom was leaning against the wall, his arms folded over his chest and avoiding Castiel's eye. He didn't move until Hael called his name one more time and then he only did so reluctantly and huffing.

"It was my fault, okay?" he groaned.

"What was your fault?" Castiel asked, confused.

"Meg was freaking out that you hadn't sent your stupid application yet, so I told her she should do it for you if she was so worried," Tom clarified. "It wasn't her idea, it was mine. But if I had known you were going to be such a diva about it, I would have kept my mouth shut."

Castiel was perplexed. Not only because of what Tom was confessing, but because he had been living in his apartment for months and this had to be the longest he'd heard him speak.

"Okay," he said, not entirely certain what to do with that information. "Umh... thank you for telling me."

Tom glared at him, his little dark eyes filled with rage.

"You know how you were going to kill me when you found out about the kiddo and me?" he asked. "Well, this is like that. Except I will actually kill you if you don't get your shit together."

Castiel didn't think he deserved any less, so he just nodded. Hael, apparently not a fan of having her boyfriend and her family throw death threats at each other, stood in between, blocking the view from each other.

"Cas, listen," she said. "Meg's been... she's going to kill me for saying this, but she's been brokenhearted about the entire thing. She barely leaves her room, she says she doesn't want to talk to you... I... I'm sorry."

Castiel's feelings must have shown in his face, because Hael went quiet immediately and her smile disappeared, replaced by pure worry in her eyes. He tried to shake the sensation of being sucker punched in the stomach to give a coherent answer.

"I understand she must be mad at me," he said. "I don't know how talking to her right now would make it any better. I... we both have a lot on our plate, Hael."

She wasn’t convinced by that answer.

"I get it, I get you have to help your friend, but what else do you have to do? The club's not opening, is it? And you’re not going to the audition."

Well, she was definitely managing to knock the air out of Castiel pretty spectacularly that day.

“Hael…”

“I’m sorry, I just don’t see what other bullshit excuse you could possibly have,” Hael interrupted him. She startled, like she couldn’t quite believe the words coming out of her mouth, but she straightened her shoulders and continued: “You do realize that was why you came here, right? To follow your dream. I always admired you for it, Cas. I thought you had more guts than I could ever have. Don’t tell me I was wrong about that.”

Castiel fidgeted with his hands awkwardly. He had no idea what to say to that.

“Dreams can change, Hael,” he said, pathetically.

“Yeah. Especially if you give up on them,” she replied. She sighed deeply and shook her head: “Look, when you’re ready to pull your head out of your ass, you know where Meg is. And you know I’ll be there, right? No matter what you decide to do.”

She didn’t add how deep her disappointment in him would be if he decided to throw everything away, but it was implied. Castiel nodded, because he was pretty sure he didn’t have any words to add. Hael threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tight for a while. She beamed at him when he let her go, and turned to leave. Tom threw one last glare at him and passed an arm around Hael’s shoulder. Castiel watched them from the door, trying to ignore the sudden lump in his throat and the absolute security that he was headed straight into the worst mistake he could possibly make.

But he was still on time to correct the course.

The Winchesters acted like they haven’t heard a word of what had been said in their living room. Dean pushed the buzzer to let Hael and Tom out without looking at him and Sam continued to pretend he was absorbed in his book. Castiel would have asked for their opinions, but he suspected he already knew what they would say.

“Sam, do you have a notebook I can borrow?” he asked instead.

Sam gave him not only a notebook but three pens of different colors. It was almost like he already knew what Castiel was about to do.

He sat down on the table, staring at the blank page, and played the same song again:

_My lover’s got humor_

_She’s a giggle at a funeral…_

The year before, he had danced to a complicated classical piece, and in his opinion, his execution had been perfect. It had been a severe blow to his ego that the judges hadn't thought the same.

Or maybe it had been perfect, but they had simply been bored out of their minds. If there was one thing his time working at the club had thought him was that being a skilled dancer could only take you so far if your public was utterly uninterested in what you were doing.

_… if the heavens ever did speak_

_She’s her last true mouthpiece…_

That was the lesson Balthazar had been trying to teach him. That was what he had talked about with Meg when they had a drink together and watched the other guys' acts. Having a perfect execution was worth nothing if the dancing was forgettable and boring. If he left no impression on the people he was dancing for.

_I was born sick_

_But I love it_

_Command me to be well…_

He pictured the audition room: its elongated walls that seemed to comb down when he walked in (though that might have been because how nervous he'd been), the waxed floor (it was so easy to slip in if you weren't paying attention and maybe that was why they did it), the large windows that gave the place a natural light.

Last year, he had auditioned during a cloudy day, but this time he imagined it with sun pouring in through the glasses, he imagined clear and shiny and empty. Last year he had contained himself to a single part of the room, imagining he was acting on a confined stage, but now he realized the entire place had been his stage and he hadn't known how to take advantage of it.

He wasn't making those mistakes now. He had learned and grown and he was better than last year.

_Take me to church_

_And I’ll worship like a dog_

_At the shrine of your lies…_

He played the song again and again, drawing circles, exes and arrows all over the square, scribbling down minute marks and notes as he passed the pages to design the next movement, tearing them and crumpling them when they didn’t turn out as he expected it to. He tapped the fingers on the table, marking the rhythm, he mouthed the words and thought about the night he had danced to that song, the night his eyes had travelled to the other end of the room and locked on the mysterious girl with colors in her arms and a scarlet red kiss.

He didn’t know if he loved her from that moment forwards. But he knew he loved her now, and because he did, he wasn’t going to fly low. He was going to keep his promise. He was going to reach for the sun.

_… to keep the Goddess on my side_

_She demands a sacri…_

The music stopped abruptly. Castiel blinked and looked at the darkened screen of his drained phone, suddenly zapped back to the reality of the Winchesters kitchen. He took the earphones out and straightened his back. A dull ache on his muscles indicated him he’d been hunched over the pages for far too long. Almost as if he was responding to a cue, Dean walked in with a box of pizza.

“Hey,” he greeted him as if they hadn’t seen each other in days, and immediately cast a judgmental look at the several balls of paper littering his table and his floor. “You’re picking that up, aren’t you?”

Castiel had been so lost in his work he hadn’t realized he was making such a mess. In fact, he also hadn’t noticed when the brothers left him alone on when the sunlight beyond the window had died out or who had turned on the lights so he could still see the pages. But all of that must have happened at some point.

“Yes, of course. I’m sorry.”

Dean placed the pizza down on the table and stared at him. “So?”

“So…?” Castiel repeated, unsure of what Dean was trying to say.

“So are you going to let us check it out?” he clarified, pointing at the notebook. “We may not have gone to any fancy conservatory or whatever, but we do know how to dance, you know?”

Castiel’s first impulse was to hold the notebook close to his chest, but if there was another lesson he had learned that year was that he didn’t really have to do anything by himself. He slid towards Dean who grabbed with one hand while he picked a piece of pizza with the other.

“That looks complicated,” he concluded, after several seconds of silent observation. “Guess it’ll make sense when I see it in action, huh?”

“Yeah,” Castiel muttered, not completely sure that would be the case. It had all seemed pretty clear in his head a second ago, but now he wasn’t even certain he’d be able to pull it off. He smiled confidently anyway. “We’ll have to see.”


	24. Chapter 24

The club looked better than Castiel had ever seen it. They had hanged Christmas lights from the abandoned cameras cables, so everything glimmered with a golden light that looked a little out of time. On the table right before the stage, Benny had placed the urn containing Balthazar's ashes and a picture of him next to it. It showed him the way Castiel liked to remember him: his eyes shining with cheerfulness, a confident wide grin on his face. He felt a lump for on his throat when he saw it, but he held back the tears. Balthazar hadn't wanted them to cry and he doubted Benny would actually kick them out if they did, but he wasn't risking it.

Ash passed around the bottles of beers, and they gathered around the table.

"Anyone has anything to say?" Benny asked.

They exchanged looks, uncertain. They had the feeling they had said everything they needed two nights ago during the dinner. All things put in perspective, Castiel was pretty sure that was the purpose of it.

Finally, Dean raised his bottle of beer with solemnity.

"We're gonna miss the son of a bitch," he said.

That seemed oddly appropriate. A slow smile grew on Benny's face as they clanked their bottles and took long sips of them. They stood around, made jokes and remembered funny anecdotes, until the shy laughter became full on roars, and suddenly, they couldn't remember why they were supposed to be sad.

It was very simple and very friendly. Castiel reckoned Balthazar would have liked that way.

"You know Crowley and Lucifer came to the apartment last night?" Benny commented to them after a while.

The reaction was the same as if someone had thrown a bag of smelly garbage right in the middle of their circle and the disgusting contents had splattered all over their shoes.

"What did those petty little men want?" Gadreel asked, perhaps too generously. Dean and Sam certainly would have more profanity-laden words for them.

"First, they were all apologetic and regretful for what irredeemable asshole they were to Balthazar," Benny explained, rolling his eyes. "And when they saw I wasn't falling for their crap, they offered to buy me this place. _'It's what dear old Balt would have wanted_ '." Benny imitated Crowley's accent so awfully there was a general chuckle. " _'To keep his legacy alive'_. I told them they could go back to hell where they came from."

"So what is going to happen to this place?" Michael asked.

Benny shrugged.

"Well, first, I'm going to take a long vacation somewhere sunny and with a lot of beaches," he commented, placing his hand over Balthazar's urn. "I get the feeling he would like that being his final resting place. And afterwards... yeah, I don't think this place can't go on the same without him," he commented, his face growing a little somber. "So I am going to sell it... to anyone other than Crowley."

He lowered his eyes, almost as if he was expecting some sort of adverse reaction.

"Okay," Alfie said.

"Yeah, that makes sense," Rudy added.

"It's going to be sad to see it close," Sam agreed. "But it's your choice, and it's fine."

Benny let out a sigh of relief and smiled at them again. Castiel didn't know what he thought they were going to say, but he was glad they could grant him that one last bit of peace of mind.

They had another toast... and then it was over. They hugged each other while saying their goodbyes, promising to stay in touch, to call, to get together some time. Castiel didn't know how much of that promise they could keep once they were all scattered to the wind, but it helped not to make it feel as final.

"You coming, Cas?"

"Give me a second."

Dean and Sam left the club and he was left alone with Benny. He was still sitting in the same table, nursing his last drink, and he raised his eyebrows in surprise when he noticed Castiel there.

“Is there anything I can do for you?”

"There is, yes. I... I’d actually like to ask you something."

He explained to Benny what he needed. He seemed a little surprised, but when Castiel finished, he nodded comprehensively.

"Course you can do that, brother," he said. "I'm very glad you're going to go for it."

He patted Castiel in the shoulder with a smile, and if he had any doubt left, Benny completely eliminated it by saying:

"You know, I think Balthazar would've been glad to hear it."

 

* * *

 

The weeks that followed were intense by design.

"You sure you want that? Because you keep saying you're a nocturnal animal and..."

"Please, Nora," Castiel insisted. "I really need the morning shifts for this month, and afterwards... well, I don't know if I will even keep working here," he confessed. "But if you could do it..."

Nora tapped the desk in front of her with her pen.

"I have done so many exceptions for you already," she commented. "I don't know if I can keep justifying it to the owner, you know?"

Castiel could have argued the owner was never around anyway, but he humbly kept his mouth shut and looked down at his shoes, waiting for Nora's verdict.

"Alright, look, I guess we can make it work," she told him. "But there are two conditions I need you to agree with."

"Yes, anything."

"The first one is that you're going to practice hard enough that you'll pass your goddamn audition and you won't need to work here anymore," Nora said.

That was a lot of pressure to put into him, but when he looked at his boss' face, Castiel realized she was actually letting him know she supported him.

"I will try my best," he promised. "And the second one?"

Nora's cheeks became red while she spoke, but she managed to hold his gaze and not stutter:

"Could you give me the number of your... friend? You know, the handsome, muscly one."

"You're going to have to be more specific," Castiel replied, frowning.

It turned out she meant Ezekiel, which was Gadreel's stage name. What was she going to do with it wasn't any of Castiel's business, of course, so he didn't ask. Also, he would be the last person to judge Gadreel for dating a former client of the club.

So in the mornings, he smiled at the clients until his cheeks hurt, even to the ones that were mean to him or made impossible demands, thinking that he wouldn't have to deal with them for long. Only until the end of the month. Only until the clock stroke three.

When he was done, he rode the bus to the Heaven and Hell. It always passed in front of the Masters Ink, Tattoos and Piercings studio. Not because he had chosen that route on purpose. It also had nothing to do with why he always tried to get a seat by the window.

He still sat with his nose pressed to the glass, trying to catch a glimpse of what went on inside. Trying to catch a glimpse of Meg as the bus rushed past her home.

"She's not here a lot these days," Hael told him on the phone, even though Castiel hadn't asked. "The art exhibit started and she's helping around in the gallery, and then she goes out with her friends from college for drinks or coffee or whatever is that artsy people drink. She comes home late most nights and Tom is angry because she's not doing a lot of tats, but..."

The long silence on the line that followed must have indicated her she'd said the wrong thing.

"But, uh, you know, I don't think she's seeing anyone or anything like that. She's just enjoying what's left of the summer with her friends. Not that she didn't..."

"Hael," Castiel interrupted her. "It's fine. I'm glad she's doing so well."

Hael huffed in his ear and he knew exactly what was about to follow:

"I still think you should talk to her. I mean, it isn't like you two officially broke up. There's a lot of things up in the air and..."

"Thank you, Hael," Castiel said. "I also think we should talk, but... it seems like we're both very busy."

It was a bullshit excuse and they both knew it. Hael clicked her tongue, frustrated.

"So when are you going to talk to her, exactly?"

"Perhaps... after the audition," Castiel said, reluctantly. If he promised anything, Hael wasn't ever going to let him forget it. "I can't really focus on anything else with that Damocles' sword hanging over my head. Is she... I mean, does she... does she know I am going after all?"

"Nope," Hael replied and Castiel could almost picture the satisfied grin in her lips. "And what better excuse to talk to her than to invite her? You know I'm going to be there..."

"They don't let public sit in," Castiel reminded her and he was ever so glad that was the case, because he was absolutely certain Hael would do something entirely over the top, like taking cheerleading pompoms or a big sign with his name and a lot of glitter.

"Well, then I'll be outside waiting for you to come out," she insisted. "And I'll take Tom, but I'll only ask Meg to come if you tell her to."

And there was really no arguing against her. Castiel wasn't sure how exactly she intended to keep it a secret, but he had no doubt in his mind she was going to find the way.

He realized she was absolutely right to put him in that position. His relationship with Meg was simply far too important for him to leave it hanging like that, and this wasn't middle school. He couldn't expect Hael to do his talking for him.

So he promised himself he would call Meg. Or he would text her. Or maybe even, perhaps, send her an e-mail. On especially good days, he even considered showing up at the studio and talking to her right then and there. He was going to do it the following day. He absolutely couldn't keep postponing it, he thought every time the bus turned around the corner and Masters Ink disappeared from his view.

But then he arrived at the Heaven and Hell, and an entirely different set of matters occupied his mind.

The guys had helped him push the tables and chairs to the side, so now the empty club was almost as big as the audition room. Perhaps a little more, perhaps a little less: Castiel kept both those possibilities in mind as he practiced his routine, as he rehearsed the steps over and over. He let the music give him the cues he needed, he memorized the lyrics and the notes until he could have sang it in his sleep. The first part of the training was the hardest: there was always a little timing that need adjusting, always a movement that hadn't come out quite right the way before and now needed to be mastered, always a moment of hesitation until he moved on to the next part of the dance. He didn't let himself rest, didn't let himself give in until he was sure he'd done it better than the day before.

And when he thought he couldn't master it, when he was at the edge of giving into despair and giving up again, there were his friends to help him pull through.

"I think you're doing great, Cas," Sam would tell him. "Yeah, but perhaps you could change the direction of that last spin?"

"Are you drinking enough liquids? You need to hydrate," Dean would remind him, when he didn't straight up put a bottle of Gatorade or water in his hand and glared at him until Castiel had finished chugging it down.

"You're on fire," Ash would say, in his typical Ash fashion. "Those judges are going to be picking up their jaws from the floor."

"That was very beautiful," Alfie would say, smiling shyly as he always did. "I wished I could dance like that."

Sometimes he sang the song when Castiel requested him to. He didn't know why, but Alfie's voice made it all the more intimate.

Gadreel, Michael and Rudy couldn't come as often, all of them busy with their own projects, but they texted him to let him know they had their fingers crossed for him. Even Benny made a time to send him a postcard from Playa del Carmen to tell him he was sure Castiel was working hard and would slay his audition.

And when none of them could come, when Castiel found himself alone with the echoes of the music and his feet bouncing against the floor, there was Balthazar's spirit.

"That was very pretty, darling, indeed," he would say, standing against the stage with the cigarette that had killed him between his lips. "But are you going for pretty or are you going for elegant or sexy? What are you trying to do here, exactly? Keep in mind they’re going to be watching your every move, so you need to make them count."

Castiel danced until sweat covered his skin, until his strained muscles gave up on him. When he was sure he had shed the rest of whatever little energy he had left, he turned the music off, closed his eyes and laid on the floor, hands and feet extended apart. He listened to the silence of the club and breathed in and out, very slowly, letting his mind go blank. Then he danced just one more time, without music to guide his steps, without eyes to see him or well-meaning advices to distract him. He danced slowly and mindfully, enjoying the fact he could use his boy in such amazing ways, enjoying that he was alive and able to do what he loved. He was trying to control his thoughts, control the fear that had driven him into this spot where he had almost pushed his dream away like a coward.

He took a shower in the still functioning bathroom, and went back to the Winchesters apartment. He was usually so tired by that point that he fell asleep not caring at all about how uncomfortable the couch was.

And when the alarm rang the following day, he got up and did it all over again.

 

* * *

 

The moth slipped through his hands like water through the fingers. Before he knew it, there was only one week left before his audition. Then just five days. Then it was the last Monday of August, and the audition was that Thursday.

And he still hadn’t talked to Meg.

It was his lunch break and he was rolling his cellphone on his hands and ignoring the sandwich Dean had made him (it contained three different kinds of cold meat, because according to Dean, that was what helped Castiel build some muscle). He usually called Hael to let her know that yes, he was still alive, and he was still practicing, and he was still seeing her after the audition to either preventing him from jumping off the nearest bridge or celebrating. Optimist as usual, Hael was certain it would be the latter and she kept reminding him she believed in him. Castiel had been feeling sick to his stomach for days now, and he wasn’t sure he could handle her being so happy and certain of his success right then.

He thought about calling his mother or his father, but again, he wasn’t sure that would be any better. Naomi would remind him that it was still not too late to back down and in the state he was in, Castiel wasn’t sure he could face that temptation with ease. His father, on the other hand, well… what would be the point? He would be either too drunk or too busy to understand the transcendence of the challenge Castiel was about to face. Again.

So no, those weren’t the best people to talk to right now.

With a sigh, he put the phone down and stared at it like he was expecting it to come to life and give him the answer he was looking for. But had that happened, the phone would have told him he was being a chicken again and he knew exactly what he had to do.

He couldn’t keep postponing it.

And as he dialed the number, he realized he had decided a long time ago how to go about it.

“You got the wrong number, dude. This ain’t Hael’s phone.”

Castiel didn’t expect Tom to greet him like they were old friends, exactly, but he also wasn’t expecting this sort of bluntness. Perhaps he should have called Hael after all, but now it was too late to back down.

“I need you to do me a favor.”

“Well, make it quick,” Tom said. Castiel could hair the faint buzzing of the tattoo machine in the background. “I’m very busy handling small, sharp, piercing objects. You know how it is.”

Castiel pretended he didn’t get the veiled threat in his voice and told him what he wanted. Tom said he would text to him. It took him about an hour to come around it. In the meantime, Castiel finished his lunch, restock the shelves and cleaned aisle seven after an hyperactive five-year-old vomited all over it. He was about to call Tom again to remind him of it when his phone chimed, announcing a new message.

It was an address, a time friend and another not-so-subtle threat: “You better not screw this up.”

Castiel was going to try his best not to.

 

* * *

 

The gallery was near Meg’s Art School, and Castiel almost missed it when the bus passed in front of it. The entry was a small green door squished between a coffee shop and a craft’s supply store, followed by a rather long set of stairs. Castiel was surprised to discover there were so much people in it, because he never would have guessed the gallery was there if he hadn’t been looking for it. Then again, the public seemed to consist mostly of Meg’s type of crowd: art students with stained jeans and plaid shirts, several tattoos and hairs dyed in crazy fantasy colors. There was an indie rock band blaring in the speakers, almost but not quite drowning the murmur of conversation and laughter. A pleasant ambient, in summary. The white walls were covered in paintings and there were strange sculptures peppered throughout the room, but Castiel was beginning to suspect those were just an excuse for those art students to gather there.

He stood by the door, awkwardly trying to catch the eye of someone who could give him some sort of indication of where to find her, but luckily, he didn’t have to.

“Hey!” a voice called her, and suddenly, there was a brunette girl with full lips standing right in front of him with a red plastic cup in her hand. “I know you! You’re Castiel, aren’t you?”

It took Castiel a couple of seconds to locate the name and match it to her face.

“Ruby,” he said in the end.

“Yeah, long time no see. Sorry I didn’t go to Meg’s birthday party, but like I told her, I was on a very long road trip with some guy I met, and it was really fun but a little weird and… you probably don’t care,” she concluded, even though Castiel had done nothing but smile and nod politely as she ranted on. “You’re here looking for Meg, right? I’ll go call her.”

“I appreciate that very much,” Castiel said.

Ruby left him in a rush and Castiel had to take a deep breath. His palms were starting to sweat and his head was spinning, already going through every single scenario that could possibly come from this. It could be that Meg would still be furious; it could be that she was receptive and they could go have a coffee somewhere and…

Ruby came back before his panic could take over.

“Hey, Meg says she’s really sorry, but she’s kind of busy with a thing so she can’t come out right now.”

Or it could be that.

“Oh,” he said, stupidly. “Is she going to take long?”

“Yeah, probably.” Ruby shrugged.

Her friendly demeanor was gone and she didn’t offer an approximate amount of time as to when Meg would be free or at what hour should Castiel come back. Pushing it would have been counterproductive.

“I understand,” he said, hoping his disappointment wouldn’t show up in his voice. “Could I at least leave her a message?”

Ruby hesitated, but apparently, Meg hadn’t said anything against that. She guided him to a table where there were snacks, a bowl punch and more red plastic cups. At one side, there were cards and a Sharpie tied to the table where guests could apparently leave their impressions or their critiques to the gallery. Castiel grabbed it and thought long and careful what he wanted to say.

In the end, he wrote two phrases and seven words. It seemed very little, but he trusted Meg would understand the intention behind them. He folded the car and passed it to Ruby, barely containing the urge to beg her to please deliver it. The only thing that stopped him from doing it was that he caught a glimpse of the paintings that hanged from the wall in front of him.

They were six large canvasses placed in two rows, three up and three down. They all depicted different scenes of Greek Mythology, and Castiel didn’t have to make a big effort to recognize the models. Sam was on the bottom right holding the world over his shoulders; Dean was right by his side with a sword in one hand and Medusa’s bloody head in the other. Michael was tied to a cliff with a very large, menacing eagle flying towards him but not pecking him just yet, while Gadreel was on the alley of a labyrinth, also holding a sword while the shadow of the Minotaur loomed over him ominously. He had seen sketched of most of these drawings, but he had never seen the finished product. They were beautiful, realistic and every single one of them had the nocturnal sky as a backdrop. Castiel knew all the constellations would be exactly on their correct place.

The only two that were placed in the daytime was the Icarus painting he had already seen and another that was completely new. It was also set against a falling sun with the sea and the beach extending beneath it. Walking among the waves and the foam, facing towards the ocean, there was Balthazar with a trident in his hand. The wind blew his grey hair backwards and the water bathed his naked torso. All the others heroes and gods in the paintings looked resigned, defiant, like that was the fate they had chosen and they were willing to carry it to the end of it. Balthazar as Poseidon looked happy, satisfied, like he was exactly where he wanted, where he needed to be. His face looked perfect, even though Balthazar had never posed for Meg and Castiel didn’t think she had a picture of him. She must have drawn him from memory, and she had done an outstanding job at that.

“They’re a great success, actually,” Ruby said by his side, snapping him of his enchantment with Meg’s work. “A patron offered to buy the full set, but Meg said only five of them were on sale. She refuses to get rid of that one,” she added, pointing at Icarus soaring towards the sun.

Castiel couldn’t bite back his smile. Maybe, after everything, she still cared about him.

“Is this one still available?” he asked.

“ _Poseidon Going Home_? Nope, sorry. Like I said, they sold like hotcakes.”

Castiel was disappointed but not surprised. He shook Ruby’s hand and thanked her for everything.

Thursday was only three days away.


	25. Epilogue

Castiel was trying to stay still in his seat, but he wasn’t succeeding at all. The hot knot that had become his stomach wouldn’t let him rest at all. There was a clock on the wall in front of him and he obsessively followed the movement of his hands, hyperaware of the fact that they should have called him in two minutes ago.

The interview had gone well. Only one of the judges remembered him from the previous year, and he’d seemed rather impressed by how Castiel’s CV had grown in the past months. When he asked how he’d done it, Castiel had said simply:

“I had a good mentor and very supportive people around me.”

And that was pretty much what it was. He didn’t tell them about the long shifts at the club and the laughter and the tears, he didn’t tell them about his little cousin who looked up to him so much he just couldn’t let her down. He didn’t tell them about the nights awake talking about stars and gods with the woman he loved.

But it had been all those things that had driven him there that day. And he kept them present as he waited for the judges to come back from their lunch break. Dena had packed him some food, but Castiel hadn’t been able to take a bite. He would eat afterwards. That was a strange yet comforting thought to hang onto: no matter what happened inside of that room, he would still have to go for lunch afterwards.

It meant there was an afterwards. It meant that even if he crashed into the sea, he could still swim towards the shore.

The judges returned. Castiel breathed in deeply when someone called his name from inside.

The audition room looked a lot bigger in his head. He stopped to look around for a moment, mentally adjusting his movements so he wouldn’t bounce on the walls or trip over the chairs from where they were watching. He placed his cellphone on the speakers at the corner of the room and took off his shirt to spread his wings as the music began:

_My lover’s got humor…_

 

* * *

 

The song was still ringing in his ears when he climbed down the Academy’s step.

Hael was there with the promised sign with his name and an excessive amount of glitter. She didn’t wait for him to get down: she ran towards him and wrapped her arms around her neck. She didn’t even ask, maybe because it didn’t matter to her. What mattered was that Castiel had tried. He had proven to her he hadn’t given up despite all his doubts and fears.

Tom was there as well. He half-heartedly waved a hand at him when he approached them, and didn’t ask either. Castiel wasn’t his friend, he was just someone who happened to be connected to two people he loved. He was just there to remind Castiel all he the things he did didn’t only affect him.

And finally, she was there.

Meg had tied her bleached blonde hair in a high pony tail. She was wearing her favorite violet leather jacket and her reddest lipstick. There were no reproaches in her eyes when they met his and there was only warmness in her arms when she opened them for him. Castiel held her tight against his chest, sinking his nose in her hair. There were so many things he wanted to tell to her, and none of them mattered at all.

She already knew them.

_You gave me wings. I love you._

He started laughing; laughing out of pure joy that she had come there after all. Not everything was okay, not everything was forgiven, but she was there, and she was hugging him, and now she was laughing along with him. He grabbed her by the waist and lifted her, spinning around while they laughed like complete maniacs. For a heartbeat or two, they danced on the street like nobody was watching.

In the end, he had to let go and step back a little, but she kept her hands on her shoulders as she smiled up at him.

“So, how'd it go?”


End file.
